Romancing a Wallflower

by Anna St. Claire

  Her mother smiled warmly, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder with palpable affection.

  “Now then, I should see Cook about Cooper’s meals. It is my belief that dogs do well with a small amount of vegetables in their meals, although not onions or turnips,” her mother said thoughtfully. “They are never good, so I must instruct Cook to prepare the proper amount of meat and vegetables for him. Perhaps a small portion of rusks.” She patted Cooper once more and left the room.

  Lilian leaned back against her pillows in a slight state of shock. Her mother was suddenly more jovial and easier to speak with—all because of one small apricot-coloured dog. Cooper stepped out of the basket and walked up to her, nudging her chin with the tip of his nose.

  “Cooper, look what Mama has brought for you. ’Tis a proper collar. Once your neck is better, I will let you wear it and you will look very suitable!” Scooping up the little dog, she cuddled him, and then rang for Clara. She wanted to get dressed and begin her day. It was pretty outside, and she suddenly had the desire to toss a ball with her new puppy.

  Five minutes later, her maid came into the room. “M’lady, ’tis time for Cooper to step outside afore he breaks his fast.” The older woman cackled softly. “I have not seen your mother this happy fer years, not since her Rascal passed away.”

  Lilian was grateful that Mama had reminded her of Rascal; otherwise, she would not have understood Clara’s remark. Usually she would ignore such ramblings by her old nurse and not ask questions, but she understood Mama now, and also recalled Rascal. She felt honoured by her mother’s gesture.

  “M’lady, yer parents asked me to tell you they ’ave decided to leave for Tintagel on the morrow. M’bones cannot wait for the fresh air of the sea again. I will pack your trunks tonight.

  Fifteen minutes later saw Lilian being transported to the first floor with Cooper following behind.

  “Winston, thank you.” Lilian acknowledged the young footman who always helped her move about the town house. She wheeled herself to the table, where a plate with various offerings from the sideboard was ready for her to break her fast.

  Musing over the day in front of her, she realized she would miss London—or at least two things about London. One of those was Lord Harlow. She felt a quickening in her stomach at the thought of him, similar to the jolts she felt when he was near her. Lord Harlow had not been to visit for two days, now. Surely, I have not developed a fondness for him…have I? A gurgle of laughter escaped her throat. I miss him. He had been in her mind for the past year, a faceless man who had saved her, calming her at the very time she needed a calm touch. His warm, baritone voice and haunting scent had soothed her senses, somehow connecting with her very soul.

  As much as she missed her home in Tintagel, where the bedroom was on the second floor instead of here, on the third floor of a townhouse. And her horse was stabled there, no doubt eating his head off in his stall. However, she would miss spending time with…John. She tried to think of him by his given name instead of Lord Harlow, as he had asked.

  Gently spearing a piece of the orange from her plate, she ate, still lost in her thoughts. Aside from her sister, Danby was her best friend. Lilian often spent hours with him in the stable, using a chair placed near his stall for her use. On bright days, she took a book to read. His velvety brown nose often cajoled her into smiling, no matter her mood. I wonder how Danby will get on with Cooper. Stop worrying. He will love the little rapscallion.

  The sound of light boot-steps sounded behind her and broke her contemplation. Her mother partly opened the door to the room.

  “Lilian, my dear, Mr. Whitten has arrived.”

  Lilian patted her knees. “Cooper, up!” The little dog hopped up onto her lap, and they rolled along into the hall together.

  “Perhaps we should go into the parlour. The room is bright, and there is plenty of space. I will have some tea brought.” Without waiting for a reply, her mother left again.

  Lilian and Cooper wheeled into the parlour, followed by Mr. Whitten.

  “I understand you have named the puppy?” He squatted down and gently patted Cooper’s head, while examining the raw places on his neck. “That is a fine name, Cooper. It fits him.” He paused and looked up. “I also understand he could have been hurt badly had you not intervened on his behalf. What good fortune you have had, little chap,” Mr. Whitten added with a serious look on his face.

  Lilian felt a twinge of pride at his words.

  Whitten continued his examination, scrutinizing Cooper’s teeth, his paws, his belly and his ears.

  “Soft belly. No drainage from his eyes or nose. Very good,” he continued aloud, but almost to himself. Whitten felt along the dog’s spine and checked the area under his tail. “No sign of worms or other parasites.” He pulled out his stethoscope and listened to Cooper’s heart. “Strong. No abnormal sounds.” Whitten then gently rolled Cooper onto his back and looked at his paws.

  Amazed, Lilian looked on while her small puppy complied without complaint.

  “I was told that he was being swung around by his legs. A disgraceful way to treat an animal, in my opinion. He is fortunate, as I do not feel any tender spots. His joints feel as they should.” Whitten patted Cooper on the head, signalling the end of the examination. “I have a tincture that I will leave for his neck area. Twice a day, take a cloth, wet it in diluted vinegar and gently dab that on the open areas. He may not like it, but it should help the sores to heal.” He pulled a small bottle from his bag and placed it in her hand. “This tincture of myrrh and aloes should help. Sprinkle it lightly and wait a few minutes. This ointment applied fifteen minutes after the tincture should help clear things up. Only apply a thin coat. The cool air will help with healing. In a few days, I think he will be as good as new and his coat will grow back.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Whitten. Do you know his age?” Lilian was delighted to get such a good report.

  “If I were to hazard a guess, I estimate he is five or six months old. Remarkably, he seems not to have gained worms or any other pestilence. Many puppies succumb to them early. This little puppy is remarkably healthy.” He turned to Cooper. “Take good care of your mistress, Cooper, I believe she will take care of you.” As he spoke, Whitten packed his bag.

  Lady Avalon, who had quietly returned to the room while the examination was going on, rose and walked over to Lilian’s chair.

  “Mr. Whitten, will you take a cup of tea and some biscuits? A maid is bringing some light refreshments.” At that moment, the maid walked in with the tea tray and placed it on the table near them.

  “Thank you, my lady, but I feel I should be on my way. I have a horse I must attend near Smithfield Market.” He bowed politely. “Good day to you.”

  “Of course.” Lady Avalon nodded. “Good day. Before you leave, my husband asked that you wait on him in his study. I believe he wishes to thank you personally.”

  “I will do that.” He turned to Lilian. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Lord Harlow spoke at length about the young woman who took on a small gang of curs to rescue a small puppy,” he said cheerily. “I could see he was greatly impressed.”

  “Thank you, sir. You are very kind. I am sure I did no more than many in my place would have done.” Lilian’s face reddened slightly at the compliment and the reminder of John Andrews.

  “Of course. All the same, it was a good thing for the animal that you intervened when you did.” Whitten smiled politely, picked up his bag, and left the room.

  “Mama, I will send a note to Lord Harlow, thanking him for his kindness.” Without waiting for a reply, Lilian wheeled her chair to the tall secretaire against the wall, opened the desk and extracted paper.

  “That would be the proper thing to do,” her mother rejoined in a distracted tone. Lilian glanced over her shoulder at her mother, who was sitting on the couch, holding Cooper. The puppy was giving her licks on the chin.

  “Astonishing,” she muttered to herself as she wrote a note to John.


  Chapter 8

  Harlow wondered if Max was bamboozling him about his getting leg-shackled to Lady Lilian. Once he had picked himself up, apologized for breaking the chair and blotted the drink from his pantaloons with his handkerchief, he walked over to the Betting Book and checked for himself.

  “Fustian nonsense!” he declared. Sure enough, someone had written ‘per L.C.P to one M.M.’ He knew other gentlemen with the initials M.B, but none that would have plastered this about Town. The ‘per L.C.P’ threw him. “This has to be some sort of lark. Who would post such as thing?”

  “It appears that M.M. put forward the wager. Do you know him?” Max asked, sauntering up to join him. “More to the point, perchance you should inform your old friend about Lady Lilian,” he prodded jokingly. “By Jove! Is that the young lady who was thrown from her horse last year?”

  “The same,” growled Harlow. He enjoyed Lady Lilian’s company, and had planned to call on her today, so why did he feel as though his under-carriage had been displayed for all the world? It did not affect just him, either. It called attention to Lady Lilian, a lady who sought privacy. His attention had cast her into public notice. He instantly regretted his initial, selfish reflections on how this affected him. “I need to find this M.M. and have him erase that bet.” It was not something he could do on his own. Once a bet was cast, it stayed unless it was cancelled by the one who had it entered on the pages. At least, he hoped it could be expunged.

  “You will catch cold at this, my friend. What do you know? I go out of Town for a few days, and when I come back, what do I find? You, all but caught in parson’s mousetrap! Is this decision not something you consider worthy of sharing with your friends?” Max asked nonchalantly, examining his cuticles.

  “I will not have the lady’s name bandied about in public, Max!” Harlow hissed. He glanced about to make sure they could not be overheard and lowered his voice. “She is Lord Avalon’s daughter, if you must have it, and no, I am not about to be engaged.”

  “Do you like her?” Max persisted, a smile teasing the corners of his lips.

  Max liked to taunt him, but he should understand this more than most. He knew from experience that Harlow still had nightmares. How often had they been forced to share close quarters while undertaking a commission together?

  “You know I cannot marry.”

  “That is not what I asked,” Max replied calmly. “Perhaps the right woman would make a difference in that aspect of your life…but do go on.”

  “I am aware of what you asked, and yes, I enjoy her company. I suppose I would not be averse to marrying her, if I were in the market to marry,” Harlow admitted. “Conjecture is worthless, however, for I am not,” he added emphatically.

  “And this is because of the nightmares? Perhaps if you were to talk about what haunts you, it could help,” Max asserted in a sober tone.

  “Nothing can help me, Max.” The two men returned to their table.

  “I am serious, nonetheless. Perhaps marriage would be good for you; ease the strain of whatever burdens dog you, if you were to find the right lady. Someone who would listen to your thoughts and concerns.”

  Harlow opened his mouth to respond but stopped. He knew many others who complained of the nightmares after the wars with France. Perhaps Max could be right… No! Whatever was he thinking? Lilian had her own nightmare. He would not add to her troubles. He would find whoever was responsible for this outrage and have them cancel the entry. In the meantime, he hoped people would ignore it.

  “I know what you are thinking.” Max grinned and held up his hand, signalling the waiter to bring them another round of drinks. “No one will miss that. And the page is only half-filled. They will see it for a long time.”

  A waiter returned and quietly refreshed their drinks.

  “I know.” Harlow caught the defeated tone in his own voice and decided he would not allow himself to fall in a dudgeon over this. He also realized, with alarming clarity, that he could not just abandon Lady Lilian, not given the attention he had already paid her. That would be wrong. “You say you have known people to recover from these nightmares?” He wanted to hear about that.

  “I have.” Max pushed the refreshed drink in Harlow’s direction. “I think, however, it would be better to discuss that somewhere less…public. Since you cracked the legs of that chair, our fellow members, who are studiously avoiding looking this way, are nevertheless cocking their ears avidly in our direction.”

  “Let me tell you what I know,” Harlow offered. He bent his head down and talked in a low voice. “First, I want to tell you about the carriage that almost ran me over, two days ago, on its way to the Golden Goose Public House.”

  “On Duke Street?” Max sat upright. “Michael ‘Bowie’ Moore owns it. Not an unfamiliar name, I am finding, to the smuggling world.”

  “I think that was its destination. The horses careened around the corner, and as I passed, I spotted the same horses, with their heads tossing back and forth in irritation, frothing from the pace of it all. They were just visible at the rear of the alehouse.”

  “Bowie was a name given to me by a contact in London, last week. I think it bears further investigation. He may have the name, but they know him as a reputable businessman in London, at least on one side of the aisle. We need to be sure before we connect him to anything. Maybe there are others associated with him. I will get someone to look into that.”

  “The whole episode was odd. I was on my way to meet…” he paused, realizing what he was about to say. “…Lady Lilian,” he finished slowly. He waited for the ribald response. It did not come.

  “This could be a sign, my friend,” Max said mildly, slapping him on the back.

  “You cannot let the hound lie sleeping, can you?” Harlow countered with good-humoured relief.

  “No, I fear not. I cannot say I am sorry for it, though.” Max coughed into his fist, signalling they were no longer alone. A man with shoulder-length hair and an ill-fitting blackcoat, tattered at the sleeves had appeared from the side of the building and seemed to be watching them.

  “Do you care to indulge me in a round at Gentleman Jackson’s? I feel the need for some exercise before we return to Tintagel.” Harlow stood up and grabbed his cane. He did not always carry it with him, unless he was doing the pretty in Town, as Max would term it. Half the time he spent trying to remember where he had left it. His mother had given him the wooden cane with a dog on the handle. Since it reminded him of his childhood pet, he hoped he could keep it. The sight of the dog brought forth another detail he needed to tell Max. “There is one other thing that I found odd that same day. Viscount Yarstone spotted Lady Catherine Poinz watching us picnic in Richmond Park the other day.”

  “You took a picnic in Richmond Park?” Max widened his eyes. “Mayhap I need to know more about Lady Lilian. To return to your point, though: that is odd. I came across the widow at the milliner’s yesterday. I was picking up a new hat, and she was walking out of the milliner’s next door with a footman behind her carrying several boxes. She stopped and asked if I was planning to be in London very long. Most odd.”

  “What did you say to her?” Harlow asked.

  “You know me better than that. I smiled and complimented her atrocious purple and black plumed hat, tipped my own hat and went inside. I heard the busy-body clear her throat in a disapproving way—you know—as she continued past me.”

  “’Tis odd that she keeps popping up,” Harlow said absently. “L.C.P…Lady Catherine Poinz!”

  “Curious. She saw you in the park with Lady Lilian, you said?” Max looked thoughtful. “How could she do that? Who would post a bet using her initials? I know, you will say, M.M.—but White’s is the stiffest of all the gentlemen’s clubs.”

  “It makes sense, nevertheless. This bears watching. I will find out who M.M. is. Perhaps, all I have to do is discover who is having a dalliance with Lady Poinz.”

  “Maybe.” Max rubbed his chin. “We will not solve this now.
What say you we head to Gentleman Jackson’s? I too feel the need for exercise now.”

  “Agreed.”

  “My carriage is around the corner. Simmons can set us down and pick us up in two hours,” Harlow offered.

  “That sounds like a good idea. The weather is warm, after all. I doubt we will want to be seen on the toddle after the match.” Max sniggered.

  “True enough.” The two men walked outside and met Simmons, who stood ready at the coach. “Simmons, take us to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon,” Harlow directed. He needed the release of strenuous exercise. A bout of fisticuffs was a good idea. He just hoped he did not come home with bruises. They tried to avoid faces when they sparred, but sometimes the best-laid schemes could still go awry. “Devilish good idea, Max. Planting you a facer is just what I need!” Harlow eased himself into the squabs of the seat and stared at the passing street.

  “You have more chance of slipping one past Jackson’s guard. I shall take great delight in drawing your cork,” Max said coolly. On the whole, they were evenly matched. Max was broader in the shoulders and it gave him greater reach. At least that is how Harlow excused any failure to his dark-haired friend.

  “You think to bait me into taking some advantage, so that when I beat you,” Harlow emphasized the last word, “you can accuse me of winning by advantage. I am wise to your tricks!”

  They fell into a familiar silence as the carriage travelled through the streets to Bond Street. As it slowed down, from the corner of his eye Harlow caught sight of a large navy plume gently waving. Rapidly, he pulled back his head and, taking his cane, indicated for Simmons to keep driving.

  “Max, she is here.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Max asked, sounding alarmed.

  “I do not think she was looking in our direction when we drove by, but it was Lady Poinz. I recognized her. She was staring at the door to the boxing academy,” he said flatly, “just as she was watching at the park. She is here again. It seems far too much of a coincidence to me.”