A Rake's Vow (35 page)

And looked up at Vane, standing in his usual pose, one shoulder propped against the mantelpiece. “Who,” Patience asked, “is Sligo?”

Vane’s lips curved slightly. “Devil’s ex-batman.”

Patience frowned. “Devil—the Duke of St. Ives?”

“One and the same. Sligo acts as Devil’s caretaker when he’s out of town. As it happens, Devil and his duchess, Honoria, returned to the fray yesterday, so I borrowed Sligo.”

“Why?”

“Because we need someone trustworthy who knows a trick or two, here in the house. Sligo’s presently coordinating the searches of all the arriving luggage. He’s absolutely trustworthy and utterly reliable. If you want anything done—anything at all—ask him and he’ll arrange it.”

“But . . .” Patience’s frown deepened. “You’ll be here. Won’t you?”

Vane met her gaze directly. “No.” Dismay—or was it simply disappointment?—flitted through her golden eyes. Vane frowned. “I’m not deserting, but an instant’s thought ought to show that Mr. Vane Cynster, known to have recently purchased a comfortable house just a stone’s throw away in Curzon Street, cannot possibly have any acceptable need to reside under his godmother’s roof.”

Patience grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose, now we’re in London, we’ll have to bow to society’s dictates.”

To whit, he couldn’t spend the night in her bed. “Precisely.” Vane suppressed his reaction. There were other options, but she didn’t need to know about them yet. Once he’d manuevered their interaction onto a more manageable footing, he’d let her into the secret. Until then . . .

Straightening, he pushed away from the mantelpiece. “I’d better be on my way. I’ll call tomorrow, to see how you’ve settled in.”

Patience held his gaze, then coolly held out her hand. He grasped it, then bent and brushed his lips over her knuckles. And felt the tiny jolt that went through her.

Satisfied for the moment, he left her.

“It’s all
soooo
exciting!”

Hearing Angela’s paean for the tenth time that morning, Patience ignored it. Ensconsed in a corner of one of the two drawing-room
chaises
, she continued stitching yet another tray-cloth. The activity had palled, but she had to do something with her mind—her hands—while she waited for Vane to appear.

Presuming he would. It was already after eleven.

Beside her, Timms sat darning; Minnie, having survived the rigors of the journey surprisingly well, was sunk in the comfort of a large armchair before the hearth. The other
chaise
played host to Mrs. Chadwick and Edith Swithins. Angela—she of the senseless pronouncements—was standing beside the window, peeking through the lace curtains at the passersby.

“I can’t wait to see it all—the theaters, the modistes, the milliners.” Hands clasped to her breast, Angela whirled and twirled. “It’ll be so
wondrously
exciting!” Ceasing her twirling, she looked at her mother. “Are you sure we can’t go before luncheon?”

Mrs. Chadwick sighed. “As agreed, we’ll go for a short excursion this afternoon to decide which modistes might be suitable.”

“It will have to be one in Bruton Street,” Angela declared. “But the best shops, Edmond says, are on Bond Street.”

“Bond Street is just beyond Bruton Street.” Patience had spent the journey down reading a guidebook. “Once we stroll the length of one, we’ll have reached the other.”

“Oh. Good.” Her afternoon’s prospects assured, Angela subsided back into her daydreams.

Patience resisted an urge to glance at the mantelpiece clock. She could hear its steady tick, counting away the minutes; it seemed like she’d been listening for hours.

She already knew town life would never suit her. Used to country hours, the routine of breakfasting at ten, of taking luncheon at two and dining at eight or later, would never find favor with her. Bad enough that she’d woken at her usual hour, and, finding the breakfast parlor empty, had had to make do with tea and toast in the back parlor. Bad enough that there was no piano with which she could distract herself. Much worse was the fact that it was, apparently, unacceptable for her to walk out unescorted. Worst of all was the fact that Number 22 Aldford Street was a great deal smaller than Bellamy Hall, which meant they were all thrown together, under each other’s feet—each other’s noses—all the time.

To have to bear with the others at such close quarters looked set to drive her demented.

And Vane had not yet arrived.

When he did, she would inform him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his idea of removing to London. They had better flush out the thief and the Spectre. Soon.

The clock ticked on. Patience gritted her teeth and persevered with her needle.

A knock on the street door had her looking up. Along with everyone else but Edith Swithins—she happily tatted on. The next instant, a deep rumbling voice reached all their straining ears. Patience inwardly sighed—with a relief she had no intention of examining too closely. Minnie’s face lit up as familiar prowling footsteps neared. Timms grinned.

The door opened. Vane strolled in, to be greeted with a panoply of smiles. His gaze flicked to Patience. She met it coolly. She studied him as he nodded to them all, then greeted Minnie elegantly and affectionately, inquiring after her health and how she’d spent the night.

“I very likely got more sleep than you,” Minnie replied, a roguish twinkle in her eye.

Vane smiled lazily down at her and made no move to deny it. “Are you ready to brave the park?”

Minnie grimaced. “Perhaps tomorrow I might let you persuade me to a stroll. For today, I’m content to sit quietly, gathering my failing strength.”

Her color, better than it had been for days, showed she was in no danger of fading away. Reassured, Vane glanced at Patience, watching with a reserved coolness he didn’t appreciate. “Perhaps,” he said, looking back at Minnie, “if you’re settled today, I might take Miss Debbington up in your stead.”

“By all means.” Minnie beamed at Patience and made shooing motions. “So trying for Patience to be cooped up inside.”

Vane slanted a rakish glance at Patience. “Well, Miss Debbington? Are you game for a turn about the park?”

Her gaze locked with his, Patience hesitated.

Angela opened her mouth and stepped forward; Mrs. Chadwick motioned her back, mouthing a definite “No!” Angela subsided, sulking.

Unable to read anything in Vane’s eyes to explain the challenge in his words, Patience raised a brow. “Indeed, sir. I would be glad of the chance of some fresh air.”

Vane inwardly frowned at her temperate acceptance. He waited while she set aside her work and stood, then, with a nod to Minnie and the rest, offered Patience his arm from the room.

He halted in the hall.

Patience lifted her hand from his sleeve and turned to the stairs. “I won’t keep you above a minute.”

Vane reached out, grasped her elbow, and drew her back to him. All the way back until he looked down into her now wide eyes. After a moment, he softly asked, “The others. Where are they?”

Patience struggled to think. “Whitticombe has taken over the library—it’s well stocked but unfortunately quite small. Edgar and the General had nowhere else to go, so they’ve braved the chill, but I don’t know how long they’ll remain there. Edgar said something about looking in at Tattersalls.”

“Hmm.” Vane frowned. “I’ll make sure Sligo knows.” He refocused on Patience. “The others?”

“Henry, Edmond, and Gerrard made straight for the billiard room.” Vane’s grip on her elbow slackened; twisting free, Patience straightened—and shot him a severe glance. “I won’t tell you what I think of a house that has a billiard room but no music room.”

Vane’s lips twitched. “It is a
gentleman’s
residence.”

Patience humphed. “Regardless, I don’t believe the allure of billiards will keep that trio satisfied. They were planning all manner of excursions.” She gestured widely. “To Exeter Exchange, the Haymarket, Pall Mall. I even heard them mention some place called the Peerless Pool.”

Vane blinked. “That’s closed.”

“Is it?” Patience raised her brows. “I’ll tell them.”

“Never mind. I’ll tell them myself.” Vane glanced at her again. “I’ll have a chat with them while you fetch your pelisse and bonnet.”

With a haughty nod, Patience acquiesced. Vane watched as she ascended the stairs, then, frowning more definitely, strode for the billiard room—to lay down a few ground rules.

He returned to the front hall as Patience regained the tiles. Minutes later, he handed her into his curricle and climbed up beside her. The park was close; as he headed his horses toward the trees, Vane checked over the list of Minnie’s household. And frowned. “Alice Colby.” He glanced at Patience. “Where’s she?”

“She didn’t come down to breakfast.” Patience’s brows rose. “I suppose she must be in her room. I haven’t seen her about at all, now you mention it.”

“She’s probably praying. She seems to spend a good part of her time thus employed.”

Patience shrugged and looked ahead. Vane glanced at her, letting his gaze slide appreciatively over her. Head high, face to the breeze, she scanned the avenue ahead. Beneath the poke of her bonnet, wispy tendrils of burnished brown fluttered against her cheeks. Her pelisse was the same powder blue as the simple morning gown she wore beneath it. His brain registered the fact that neither was new, much less in the latest style, but, to his eyes, the picture she presented as she sat on the box seat of his curricle was perfect. Even if her chin was tilted a touch too high, and her expression was a touch too reserved.

Inwardly, he frowned, and looked to his horses. “We’ll need to ensure that none of Minnie’s menagerie has a chance to get loose on their own. I think we can assume there’s no conspiracy or partnership, at least between unrelated individuals. But we must ensure none of them has a chance to pass on any stolen valuables, like the pearls, to an accomplice. Which means we—you, me, Gerrard, Minnie, and Timms, with Sligo’s help—will have to accompany them whenever they leave the house.”

“Angela and Mrs. Chadwick plan to visit Bruton and Bond Streets this afternoon.” Patience wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I could go with them.”

Vane suppressed his grin. “Do.” Most ladies of his acquaintance would hie off to Bruton and Bond Streets at the drop of a hat. Patience’s lukewarm enthusiasms augered well for a peaceful life in Kent. “I’ve agreed, suitably reluctantly, to act as guide for Henry, Edmond, and Gerrard this afternoon, and I tipped Sligo the wink to keep his eye on Edgar and the General.”

Patience frowned. “There are rather many to watch if they should decide to go out on their own.”

“We’ll have to curb their taste for town delights.” Vane noted the carriages drawn up to the verge ahead. “Speaking of which . . . behold, the
grandes dames
of the
ton
.”

Even without the warning, Patience would have recognized them. They sat delicately draped over velvet or leather seats, elegant turbans nodding, sharp eyes bright, gloved hands artfully waving as they dissected and discussed every snippet of potential gossip. From youthful but elegant matrons to eagle-eyed dowagers, they were assured, secure in their social positions. Their carriages lined the fashionable route as they exchanged information and invitations.

Many heads turned their way as they bowled steadily along. Turbans were graciously inclined; Vane returned the nods easily but did not stop. Patience noted that many of the eyes beneath the turbans came to rest on her. The expressions she detected were either arrested, haughtily disapproving, or both. Chin rising, she ignored them. She knew her pelisse and bonnet were unfashionable. Dowdy. Possibly even frumpish.

But she would only be in London for a few weeks—to catch a thief—so her wardrobe hardly mattered.

At least, not to her.

She glanced sidelong at Vane, but could detect no glimmer of consciousness in his expression. She couldn’t read anything in it at all. He gave no sign of registering, let along responding, to the more artful of the looks directed his way. Patience cleared her throat. “There seem to be a lot of ladies present—I didn’t think so many would have returned to town.”

Vane shrugged. “Not everyone does, but Parliament’s back in session, so the political hostesses are in residence, exerting their influence with the usual balls and dinners. That’s what draws many of the
ton
back. The few weeks of social whirl nicely fill the time between the summer and the start of the shooting season.”

“I see.” Scanning the carriages ahead, Patience noted one lady who, rather than reclining languidly and watching them go by, had sat bolt upright. A second later, she waved—imperiously.

Patience glanced at Vane; from the direction of his gaze and his set lips, he’d already seen the lady. His hesitation was palpable, then, gathering tension as if girding his loins, he slowed his horses. The curricle rocked to a stop beside the elegant brougham.

Occupied by the lady, of similar age to Patience, with bright chesnut hair and a pair of exceedingly shrewd, blue-grey eyes. Said eyes instantly locked on Patience’s face. Their owner smiled delightedly.

Grimly, Vane nodded. “Honoria.”

The lady switched her bright smile to him. It deepened fractionally. “Vane. And who is this?”

“Allow me to present Miss Patience Debbington. Minnie’s niece.”

“Indeed?” Without waiting for more, the lady held out her hand to Patience. “Honoria, my dear Miss Debbington.”

“Duchess of St. Ives,” Vane grimly announced.

Honoria ignored him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Is Minnie well?”

“She’s much better than she was.” Patience forgot about her shabby clothes and responded easily to the duchess’s openness. “She took a chill a few weeks back, but she survived the journey down surprisingly well.”

Honoria nodded. “How long does she plan to stay in town?”

Until they caught their thief—unmasked their Spectre. Patience held the duchess’s clear gaze. “Ah . . .”

“We’re not certain,” Vane drawled. “It’s just one of Minnie’s usual bolts to town, but this time she’s brought her entire menagerie with her.” He raised his brows in patent boredom. “Presumably for distraction.”