by Archer, Kate
Mrs. Hemming had nodded eagerly at the suggestion and they made their way to their waiting carriage.
The footman had just swung open the doors when Lily heard her name called.
“Miss Farnsworth!”
She turned and saw Lord Grayson barreling toward them in a most determined manner. He was as dandified as ever and carried a most ridiculous walking stick as if he meant to clear a path ahead of him.
She inwardly sighed, bracing herself for the ridiculous compliments to come.
“Dear me,” Mrs. Hemming said softly.
“Mrs. Hemming, Miss Farnsworth,” Lord Grayson said, nearly out of breath, “ever your servant. How fortuitous to encounter you so unexpectedly on this fine day!”
“How so, Lord Grayson?” Mrs. Hemming asked.
Lily suppressed a smile. Never let it be said that Mrs. Hemming did not know how to discomfit a young gentleman bent on pleasantries.
Lord Grayson was not at all slowed down. “This evening is Lady Blakeley’s ball. Dear Miss Farnsworth, I must know how you have been cast. Venus? Aphrodite? Or perhaps the queen of all, Hera?”
To be compared to goddesses made not the least impression on Lily. Rather, she said, “I believe Lady Blakeley wishes us all to arrive and reveal ourselves and would not like to hear it spoken of on the street.”
“I suppose so,” Lord Grayson said. “I must only spend the next hours tortured with wondering.”
“That seems a mild bit of torture, if you ask me,” Mrs. Hemming said, to Lily’s amusement and delight.
Lord Grayson did seem a bit taken aback that his flattery was not having the desired effect, but swiftly regained his composure. “Ah!” he said. “But I have managed to discover one thing. You will attend. You cannot say you will not reveal your mask without also revealing that you will be there.”
“We will be there, my lord. Now, I must get my aunt home before she overtires.”
Lily turned to take her leave, but Lord Grayson was not so eager to end the meeting. He said, “May I claim supper then, Miss Farnsworth?”
Lily felt consternation flow through her. He could not claim supper. It was supposed to be Lord Ashworth that claimed supper. She would not agree to it. No, she would not.
“I am afraid I am already claimed,” she said hurriedly.
“Is it Ashworth again?” Lord Grayson asked.
Lily did not answer. She could not answer. Good Lord, nobody had claimed her for supper. She might pretend somebody had, but she could not positively name the gentleman. What if she said it was Lord Ashworth and he discovered it before the ball? Or worse, did not ask her?
“You ought to throw him over, Miss Farnsworth. I am certain his mother has set her sights on Miss Blaise. She’s worth ten thousand, or so I’m told.”
Lily had climbed into the carriage as quickly as she could and Mrs. Hemming followed. Her aunt gave the footman leave to close the door, thereby ending anything further that Lord Grayson might say. They set off and left him standing on the sidewalk.
Lily was beginning to positively dislike Lord Grayson. And as for Miss Blaise, she could fling herself off a roof for all Lily cared about it.
*
Hayes stared at his mask. He supposed he should not be irritated by it, or even surprised by it. Cards of seven, eight, nine, and ten fanned out—piquet’s carte blanche. One would take the points for such a hand, but it was not the sort that would lead to a likely victory. He should have known his matches against Miss Farnsworth would be pointed to, though that all seemed as ancient history. He did not care for himself, he only hoped Miss Farnsworth would not be embarrassed by it.
Cobb came into the library with a letter on a tray. He held it out and said, “A very dirty boy has just delivered this, my lord. As evidenced by the black thumbprints upon it.”
Hayes picked up the card, examining the handwriting. He did not recognize it. “Who would send me a carefully folded letter in such a manner? Very strange,” he said.
“As I did think, too,” Cobb said. “I questioned the boy to determine from whence he’d come, but he was as saucy as you might expect. If I may quote that charming lad, he said: ‘I ain’t never tellin’ ya, you old blighter.’”
“Very well, Cobb,” Hayes said, suppressing a smile. If there were one thing Cobb could not abide, it was a lack of respect for his person and position. Hayes imagined that his butler placed himself rather high in the order of things. Finding himself named an old blighter by a person so far beneath his notice would poke at him for days.
After his butler had closed the door behind him, Hayes tore open the letter. He scanned to the signature and his fingers tightened on the paper. It was from Mr. Shine.
Ashworth,
As you know, I was left in desolation when last we met. However, my natural sunny disposition never eludes me for long. I am particularly sunny at this moment, having considered what means I have about me to add to my future prosperity.
I am certain you have somehow hushed up why Miss Farnsworth did not return home in her own carriage on the fateful night. Of course, I cannot know what was said, but I CAN recall what I said to her servants. I claimed she’d gone off to the country with Lady Marchelan. That lady, naturally, does not exist.
Having such knowledge that could cause you embarrassment and ruin Miss Farnsworth has made me sunny, indeed.
If you would prefer that the news not get about that the illusive Lady Marchelan does not exist, and that you were quite alone for a shameful amount of time with Miss Farnsworth, and that nobody else was in the house as the servants had been dismissed and Mr. Shine and his cousin Lady Carradine had departed, you will do the following:
Hayes read through to the end of Mr. Shine’s missive, hardly believing what he was reading. The man was reckless and dangerous.
Chapter Thirteen
Hayes had been afraid that Shine was not rational. The letter he’d just crumpled in his hand was further proof of it. If Shine had any care for his skin, he would have taken what he could from Lady Carradine’s house and made for the nearest port. He’d not done that, though. He’d decided to stay and fight.
Hayes could not allow the information to get out. How could he explain it? Those hearing of it would look to what could be proved. What else could be proved than Lady Marchelan did not exist and Mr. Shine and Lady Carradine were gone? Even if the real circumstances were known, what did they prove but that he and Miss Farnsworth had in fact been quite alone for a period of time. If Lady Carradine could somehow have helped, she was long gone. My God, he’d even paid off the servants and taken two of them into his employ. He knew what the truth of that was, but it would look as if he’d bought their silence.
Mr. Shine must be stopped at all costs. He must pay him. His feelings upon considering enriching Shine were violent, but there was no choice. The only way to rid London of the man and protect Miss Farnsworth was to enable the reprobate to set up elsewhere. He might murder the fellow; he might even get away with it. But it would be inevitable that there would be some kind of investigation and the story would then come out somehow. Further, if he did not give him the money that would inspire him to decamp, Shine might only go on to more desperate plans.
Shine must be paid, despite Hayes’ feelings about it. When he had paid the man, he would threaten his life if he dared turn up again in future. He would mean the threat, too. He would ensure that Shine knew he meant it. It must be strong enough to convince Shine to make no more reappearances. In any case, as a practical matter, he would not find himself the victim of blackmail twice. If Shine returned in future, he would kill him and take his chances. He might be blackmailed now, but he would not make a career out of it.
It was fortunate he had enough winnings on hand to cover it, though it would set him back. He supposed that was what Mr. Shine had counted on. The others of the Dukes’ Pact might be in straightened circumstances just now, but he had other means.
He examined the address given by the villain—th
e place they were to meet to hand over the money. It was in a lonely area of Hyde Park and the meeting was to be at half past midnight. Hayes determined he’d better bring pistols, if not to defend himself against Mr. Shine, then to fight off the footpads that would have an eye out for an opportunity.
Apparently, Mr. Shine had all confidence that he would come to this desolate spot at the appointed hour, as he’d not even had his messenger wait for a reply.
Hayes grabbed a sheet of paper from his desk and composed a note.
*
“This is rather extraordinary,” Mrs. Hemming said, bustling into the drawing room, waving a paper. “I cannot say that I am disappointed myself, there never was anything less comfortable than attempting whist behind a mask, but for you dear. Terrible. And then, what can he mean by it? Does he know something? I do wish he had been more clear.”
“Aunt,” Lily said, feeling a sense of alarm, though Mrs. Hemming was not being particularly clear herself, “what has happened?”
“Lord Ashworth writes that we are not to go to Lady Blakeley’s half mask. We are to stay indoors and we will be guarded by some of his men. Something must have happened, though he does not bother to say what. A bit highhanded, if you ask me.”
Lily was some combination of frightened and disappointed. She too wished the lord had sent more information. Certainly, he had discovered something. Perhaps he’d discovered that Mr. Shine was still in town. Had he somehow divined that Mr. Shine had not, as they’d all hoped, fled the country?
But even if he were still in London, what could Mr. Shine hope to accomplish? What did Lord Ashworth suspect him of, that they were not to dare venturing out? Lily felt a shiver run down her back. Perhaps the lord thought she might be in danger of a kidnaping? She knew she should not speculate, as speculations were so often wrong. Even so, she would assure herself that every door and window to the house was locked come sunset.
Then, the lord would present himself in the next day or so and tell them all about it. She must think his not very elucidating missive was caused by some hurry on his part. They must just trust him for now.
Though, it was a shame that they were to miss the mask. Worse, they must disappoint Lady Blakeley, who had been so kind to them and taken such care and expense over their masks.
“Aunt,” Lily said resolutely, “we must trust in Lord Ashworth and send our excuses to Lady Blakely. We must say we have both been taken ill—claim we ate a bad fish, I think. That would account for both of us indisposed and be vexatious enough to keep us at home, but not a thing that would lay us low for long.”
Mrs. Hemming nodded. “Very good idea. I was thinking we say we had colds, but then we would eventually be seen without red noses and people would wonder at it. I never knew of a cold that did not come with a red nose. Goodness, I have not had a bad fish in ages, though I remember it most clearly. After I recovered, I fired my cook as it became known to me that she was in the habit of buying cheap goods and pocketing the extra money. That is how I ended with a turned fish on my plate. Well, I wonder where she is now? Poisoning some poor family in the countryside, probably.”
Lily did not follow the travails of her aunt’s old cook. She was too busy thinking ahead. It was true, she would not see Lord Ashworth at Lady Blakeley’s ball. But he must arrive here, if not today then on the morrow, to explain his note. She glanced down at her simple muslin dress and wondered if she should change to something more flattering.
*
Hayes had said he’d meet Grayson at Destin’s and he’d decided he better turn up. He did not want anybody to notice anything unusual about his movements on this particular day.
Grayson had arrived before him and acquired one of the better tables. That had been no great effort, as the place was thinly occupied at that moment. As usual, his friend was starched to oblivion. Hayes thought it looked an uncomfortable and silly way to go on.
He sat down as Marty Destin hurried over with a coffee. Hayes had frequented the place so often now that Destin understood his habits—he did not favor wine or other spirits so early in the day. It was well he did not engage in the habit, as he would not for the world drink anything stronger than ale on this day. His mind must remain sharp.
“Any further news of Mr. Shine?” Grayson asked.
Hayes was momentarily startled by the question, until he recalled that Shine had been such a topic of interest at Dalton’s house. It was devilish inconvenient that Shine had been the same man who’d attempted a cheat at Gravesley’s house party. He hoped there was not anything else about the scoundrel that might come out, thereby keeping him a topic to discuss.
“I have heard nothing,” Hayes said.
“Wellburn says he knew the fellow was a sharp as soon as he clapped eyes on him and never went to Lady Carradine’s since,” Grayson said.
“Wellburn always claims to know everything. After the fact,” Hayes said drily.
“True,” Grayson admitted. “But then, Banks said he’d heard from somebody that somebody else heard that Shine wished to marry Lady Carradine. He was so persistent that she decamped and nobody knows where she’s gone.”
Hayes inwardly sighed. He should have known the invented stories would begin their rounds. Wellburn always knew it. Banks heard it from somebody who heard it from somebody. He wished they would all stop talking.
“I suppose it is nothing to us what the two of them do,” Hayes said.
“I suppose not,” Grayson said. “Anyway, guess how I am to arrive to Lady Blakeley’s ball?”
“As an over-starched neckcloth?” Hayes asked.
“That might have been better,” Lord Grayson said. “As it is, I am to go as a magpie. The note said, for the collector of hearts.”
“You might take the hint, friend,” Hayes said.
“I might, but not just yet. There is a lovely young lady who will serve to distract me from Lady Blakeley’s condemnation. Though, I just saw her with her aunt on the street and she refused to tell me of her mask. I wonder how Lady Blakely has seen fit to cast Miss Farnsworth?”
“Give over chasing Miss Farnsworth,” Hayes said abruptly.
“Ah! Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Grayson asked. “I already know you have secured her for supper. She would not positively say it, but I divined it all the same.”
Hayes stared at his friend. Had Miss Farnsworth hinted such? He could not be certain—Grayson was in the habit of inventing elaborate teases. Whatever the case, he would not encourage his friend to speak further on Miss Farnsworth.
“You know no such thing,” he said. “Further, Miss Farnsworth is too intelligent to succumb to your false flattery.”
“But perhaps not so clever as to fail to succumb to my jokes,” Grayson said with glee. “I hinted that your mother was set on Miss Blaise as the next duchess.”
Hayes would have liked, just then, to hit Grayson on the head with a nearby plate, though he hid the inclination. He was less successful at hiding a shudder over the mention of Miss Blaise and her ever-searching eyes. “You’re disgraceful,” he said, “I hope you know it.”
Lord Grayson shrugged. “And you—how has Lady Blakeley seen fit to describe you this year? What do you come as?”
“Carte blanche,” Hayes said stiffly.
He ignored Grayson’s laughter and downed his coffee. Had Miss Farnsworth really claimed he would take her into supper? It was impossible to know. Grayson might say anything to amuse himself. But what if she had?
In any case, the joke was shortly to be on Grayson. Neither of them would have the opportunity to divine Miss Farnsworth’s intentions this night, as the lady would be safe in her own house.
*
Though the daylight hours had not unnerved Lily, when the shadows grew long and the sun began its descent, she felt decidedly unsettled. Her aunt felt it too. They had eaten dinner quietly and attempted to keep to their habits, retiring to the drawing room as they would normally do on an evening in.
They’d had to tell
Ranier a terrible fib—the note they had received from Lord Ashworth was purported to be news that Lady Blakeley’s kitchens had caught fire, the smoke damage was extensive, and the mask was off. Ranier had seemed disappointed that they would not be able to advertise Lady Blakeley’s high opinion of Mrs. Hemming and her niece, but he had not questioned the veracity of the story.
Ranier had lit the candles in their usual places near the windows, but without speaking of it she and Mrs. Hemming had moved them to the far side of the room.
Mrs. Hemming had instructed Ranier to ensure that the house was locked up tight. She told him she’d heard of a recent break-in only two streets away.
Dear Ranier, hearing of the offense, had thrown off his disappointment over Lady Blakeley’s kitchens afire and puffed out his chest in the most marvelous fashion. He assured his mistress that no criminal element would make it past the front hall while he was the butler. He even took two heavy silver candlesticks to the front doors, ready to clobber the brains out of anybody being so foolish as to test his mettle.
Lily and her aunt, being both assured of Ranier’s determination, had picked up their sewing.
The minutes had ticked by slowly. They did not speak much, and when they did it was in low tones. Lily was certain her aunt listened for some sound out of doors. Though she had not communicated her fear of a kidnaping or some other danger lurking about from Mr. Shine, she was sure her aunt thought just the same. Why else would Lord Ashworth tell them to stay at home? There must be some plot afoot that the lord could not see his way clear to protect them from if they had been on the streets, coming and going from Lady Blakeley’s house.
Though both Lily and Mrs. Hemming worked to appear as if all was as it should be, they gave it up before an hour had passed. Mrs. Hemming had suggested that Lily sleep in her bedchamber, the bed being of enormous size. Lily had hastily agreed—she’d no wish to be alone on such a night.
Ranier was convinced that both his mistress and Miss Farnsworth were terrified that the house would be broken into by dangerous low characters. He’d also had to deal with the housekeeper and the maids, who were a deal less calm than himself and frightened of being murdered in their beds. Pips had claimed she would sleep under her bed, so that the murderous beasts who were bound to break in would find it empty for their trouble. This had set the housemaids wondering if they too should sleep under their beds.