A Reformed Rake (9 page)

“We danced?” He turned to stare at her. “Why don’t I remember?”

“As I said, there was another lady, a very beautiful young lady. She was dancing in the next set.”

Sir Frederick closed his eyes. He pulled in a long breath and let it go slowly. “I see. You are a woman scorned and not about to give an inch now we’ve met again.”

“No. I’ve no wish for revenge. I
had
that—although you were unaware.” His mobile eyebrow rose, silently asking a question. “I made a May-game of you while we danced,” she explained. “It was the most enjoyable set of my whole miserable experience in London. I laughed about it for months.” When he asked how she’d done so, a twinkling eye telling her he’d not hold it against her, she described her small revenge. She finished, “Then I suggested the new steam engine might someday replace sail.”

“I hope I agreed to
that.
It will, you know.”

“Ridiculous.”

“No.”

Sir Frederick explained why he believed it true. Harriet argued. He responded. Their discussion passed to other things and, slowly, but without their noticing, well over an hour passed. The moon peeked from between scudding clouds and Sir Frederick looked around. Yves lay on still another chair, wrapped tightly in a warm rug. Madame and Françoise slept uneasily. So did Cob.

Farther along the railing stood a scowling stranger who occasionally glanced their way. Sir Frederick eyed him thoughtfully. Then he looked to where a sailor stood, arms folded, one knee bent and his foot steadying his bulky body as he leaned back against the superstructure. The captain had ordered that huge man to guard this party and the man was unquestioningly following orders. Frederick relaxed.

“As much as I’m enjoying our conversation, Miss Cole, I think you should rest. You will be called when we reach Dover. Tomorrow, if Madame is able, we’ll travel on to London.”

“You’ve arranged transport?”

“So I hope. I’d no notion I’d have passengers when I first sent a message to my friend, but, if Lord Halford is in London, he will have purchased a team and carriage for me. It will be waiting in Dover. If he has failed me, then I’ll hire a post chaise. You ladies may have the coach and Monsieur de Bartigues and I will ride.” Frederick frowned. “I still do not like the notion that you’ll arrive in London under my care.”

“Once in London you may leave us. I believe Madame intends hiring a suite at the Pulteney Hotel in Piccadilly. From there she will contact Lord Crawford.”

“
Who
?”

“Lord Crawford.”

“Crawford! But he can’t be Françoise’s grandfather. He
has
no grandchildren.”

“There was a family argument when his daughter wished to marry Frani’s father. He disinherited her when she eloped.”

“Impossible. His daughter drowned nearly twenty years ago. I remember it well. There is a memorial plaque in the castle chapel.”

Harriet turned to lean back against the rail, eyed him. “How do you know so much?”

Frederick’s grim expression softened. “Because, my suspicious one, she was my favorite cousin, one of the few females in the world I actually liked. I was devastated when she drowned.”

“Your cousin? I’m sorry that I must tell you Lord Crawford lied. She died only five years ago.”

Sir Frederick fell silent, staring over the phosphorescent tipped waves. “How could he have done such a thing? She was the old man’s only offspring. Or she was when I left England last spring.” He forced a chuckle. “I’ve been gone just long enough that it is possible his new wife has given him another. He remarried not long before I left, you see.”

“Oh dear. I wonder if his wife will welcome Françoise.”

“She will not.”

“You sound very sure of that.”

“I am. The woman my uncle married is a most vicious woman. She will be jealous of Mademoiselle Françoise’s beauty and still more jealous of her youth. Poor Cressida.”

“Why do you call her so? She married a rich man by her own choice, I presume.”

“And expected to honeymoon in Paris before returning to London where she hoped to live the lifestyle to which she’s always aspired. My uncle had concocted quite other plans after delving into her history. He took her to an island off the Scottish coast. A nearly deserted island with an old, uncomfortable and drafty castle. There he meant to keep her until she was pregna—er, I mean to say, increasing.”

“Oh, the poor lady.”

“She would be given a choice, my uncle informed me: give up society, the balls and whatnot and, I must add, the gaming tables, which she loves well—or agree to bear her new husband an heir. She will have had a hard choice since child-bearing is something she’s feared and carefully avoided.”

“So, you may have been cut from his will?”

“It is no longer important.” Again he felt that uncharacteristic need to explain himself. “Odd as it seems, while in Florence I did an old woman a good turn. She died soon after, and I found she’d left me a fortune I didn’t know she possessed.” Sir Frederick frowned. This compulsion to explain himself to Miss Cole was ridiculous. He never explained himself to anyone!

“A fairy tale ending,” she said lightly.

“So one might say.” Sir Frederick turned away.

When he didn’t turn back, she said, “Thank you for the conversation and company, Sir Frederick, but I’ve become a trifle chilled and will go down to my cabin for a time.”

“I apologize, Miss Cole,” said Frederick, suddenly stiff and formal, angry with himself for thoughtlessly keeping her out in the wind. “I should not have kept you standing about for so long.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Harriet responded crossly, her features showing no expression, her mind a muddle of new impressions. Exasperated with herself, her tone was chilling when she continued, “If I had wished to go sooner I would have gone. It is still several hours until we reach Dover. Until then, Sir Frederick.”

She swept away toward the stairs leading to the cabins and disappeared. Sir Frederick, a wary eye occasionally checking the comte’s man, found his mind wandering from one thing to another. Why, when he’d fallen in love with a pert minx like Elizabeth only a year earlier, should he so soon find himself far more deeply in love with an utterly different style of woman? Then there were the inconsistencies of women: why, when they’d enjoyed a long, interesting, and non-aggressive discussion, had Miss Cole shifted, there at the end, from newfound friend to the icy shrew she’d shown herself to be from the time of their odd introduction in Switzerland?

Down in her cabin, snuggled under blankets, and finally warm and drowsy, Harriet wondered much the same thing. They’d been getting along so well. Why, when he’d done nothing more than apologize in that ridiculously stiff way for keeping her out in the cold, had she suddenly felt rejected and lonely? Someday, my girl, she told herself, you’ll lose your temper in the wrong situation and find yourself well and truly in the basket!

On deck, Sir Frederick scanned the sky. A storm, a bad one according to the captain, was brewing in the North Sea. When it broke, traffic on the Channel would cease, travelers held in port possibly for days. That was well and good, assuming the storm broke before the morning packet left Calais! On the other hand, here and now, he wished to protect the women from the elements, and he hoped the rain held off until he had them settled at the Ship Inn, Which should have rooms reserved in his name. He’d give them to the women if Madame had not foreseen the need to reserve rooms and the place was overcrowded, as it often was when careful travelers waited for calm, clear weather.

He frowned toward where Madame lay. Her color was bad and there was a blueness around her mouth he didn’t like. She needed rest, but most of all, she needed freedom from worry. Would she find that once she’d handed Françoise into his uncle’s protection? Or would she discover that Crawford’s new wife was nearly as much a danger as the comte? Frederick sighed, wishing there were a simple answer.

Dover’s famous white cliffs were visible now, ghostly pale in the skittish moonlight, the moon showing itself less and less often as the cloud cover worsened. They’d have been within sight of those cliffs some time ago if it were daytime and the sun shone on them. He cast another wary glance toward the billowing clouds whipping across the sky and prayed there would be time to disembark before the heavy-bottomed harbingers of the coming storm opened up and soaked the world.

He looked ahead, his hands on the rail. At least here, in Dover, they would not have to transfer to small boats and be rowed in. there would be a gangplank down which they could walk and a hack or chairs in which the women could ride to the hotel. His grip tightened as he heard soft steps behind him, but he didn’t turn his head. Had he, carelessly, at the last moment, given the comte’s murderer a chance at him?

“Sir Frederick?’’

He relaxed at Harriet’s tentative question. “I was about to send for you. Did you rest, Miss Cole?”

“Yes. Will it be long now?”

“I believe something less than half an hour. There,” he pointed, “See? England awaits us.”

“What a busy port even now, at night.”

“Hmmm.”

They reached simultaneously for Harriet’s scarf which blew across his face. Their hands met. Holding both her fingers and the soft material, Frederick turned. “Are you looking forward to being in London again, Miss Cole?”

Harriet’s fingers trembled. His words were courteous, perfectly polite, but the gentle pressure of his hand and the warmth in his eyes were saying something different. She searched his face, barely hearing her own voice respond with a quiet negative. “I was not happy in London. I have no fond memories of my one and only stay there.”

“It will be different this time, Miss Cole.”

“How will it be different?”

“You are older, for one thing.”

She nodded. “And little better than a servant for another.”

His hand tightened around hers. “You are much more than a servant!”

Harriet looked away, refused to respond to such a silly comment.

Sir Frederick sighed softly, but changed the subject to one she’d deem less controversial. “I have had an idea I believe will satisfy any fears you have about putting up at another hotel—even one so well run as the Pulteney. It should satisfy Madame as well. It will take time to contact my uncle who rarely visits London and is unlikely to be there when we arrive, and I think it will be best if you visit his new wife’s brother. Lord Halford has a moderately large and well-situated London house. He may be told the whole story of the comte’s persecution of Mademoiselle with no concern that he’ll add the story to the London gossip mill. He will be prepared to protect Mademoiselle Françoise. Most important of all, with the connection through his sister, who is married to Frani’s grandfather, no eyebrows will be raised, and we’ll avoid scandal.”

“You mean we need not be tainted by our association with yourself.”

“Exactly.”

“A confirmed rake worrying about the reputation of a beautiful young girl! You are a strange man, Sir Frederick.”

“Only to a mind as suspicious as your own. Perhaps it is
because
I have led the life of a rake I know the dangers surrounding women such as yourself and wish to circumvent them.” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze questioning.

“Oh, not myself,” she responded. “I am well and truly on the shelf, a confirmed ape leader. At six and twenty I’ve given up all hopes of attaining the married state, of course. Furthermore, I am a companion, a servant, as I have said. Again there is no reputation to protect. But, for Françoise, I thank you.”

Frederick’s lips tightened. “Miss Cole, somewhere deep within that poise and strength and loyalty you exhibit, there is an insecure and unhappy woman. Bid her adieu. On the instant! You are lovely. You are intelligent. And you are
not
on the shelf.” He scowled down at her, his fingers tightening around hers and the scarf. “Do not waste your visit to London as if you were a desiccated and torpid old woman.”

The color in Harriet’s cheeks, already rosy from the wind, deepened. She tugged at the hand she’d forgotten he held. “We are nearly arrived. I must see to our baggage since it will be beyond our poor maids to direct its unloading.”

He sighed softly, knowing he’d failed once again to reach the woman inside the lovely creature he would have for his own. “Your maids will not believe it, of course, but tell them their suffering is about to end.” He watched as she moved gracefully along the deck which, since they’d entered the harbor as they spoke and into the protection it provided, no longer rose and plunged so dangerously.

Five

When Harriet disappeared, Frederick turned back to the rail. They had approached near enough he could discern individual figures along the torchlit dock. One, a tall man wrapped in a many-caped driving coat, caught his eye and held it. He waited and, assuring himself it was who he’d thought, he grinned widely. Bless friends everywhere!

But, he thought, a small anxiety entering his soul, was Robert Merton, Lord Halford, alone—or had he brought the minx who had been, briefly, between them. Frederick hoped he need not yet face Elizabeth. Not until he had the three women safe. Not until he had nothing on his mind and could put the whole of it to controlling whatever riot Elizabeth might still raise in his heart and soul! He didn’t
think
there’d be a problem—not if what he felt for Harriet were real—but if there
were
feelings for the chit, he wanted any such emotion to do no damage to the long friendship between himself and Robert.

Frederick waited impatiently as the sailors warped the packet closer to the dock. He waved to Robert, who waved back, his hand going quickly to the hat nearly blown from his head. The two men grinned at each other. When the gangplank was in place, Frederick hurried down it and went straight to his friend.

“I’d not expected this,” said Frederick. “I only asked that you choose me a team and carriage and have them delivered here.”

“You’ve been gone very nearly a year. Someone should welcome you home. I’ve been here for the last three packets.” The two men clasped hands. “Is all well with you?” asked his lordship.

The question was not, Frederick knew, as innocent as it sounded. He smiled. A hint of nostalgia, perhaps the slightest touch of pain could be read in the quick grimace passing across his features. “All, believe me, is well. Or, actually, it isn’t.” Frederick grinned, his brows rising in arcs. “You don’t know how opportune your arrival is,” he said on a wry note. “We’ve a problem, Robert.”

“
We’ve
a problem? When
you’ve
a problem, a woman’s mixed up in it somewhere.” One brow rose, a grin spreading across the handsome face. “Remember, Fred, I’m a married man now and a reformed character. You mustn’t mix me up in anything I’ll regret.”

“You won’t regret it. Besides, I make an exceedingly odd knight-errant. You’ll do far better.”

“Ah ha! A story.”

“Yes. I’ll tell it later. It is important to get Madame la Comtesse, her granddaughter, and Miss Cole out of sight. Have you a hack waiting?”

“How about my carriage? It’s there.”

“Excellent. In fact, it couldn’t be better for lots of reasons. Wait here, my friend.”

With Yves’ help on one side and Frederick’s on the other, Madame walked down the plank. She stood straight, if not terribly firm, before Lord Halford, nodding at Frederick’s introduction. “We’ll go no farther than the Ship Inn tonight, Madame,” he finished gently, “but believe me, Lord Halford will help you and yours as I have done.”

Harriet helped Françoise down to the dock. Brief introductions were made but Frani obviously felt too unwell to care. She joined her grandmother in the Halford carriage and Harriet, after one last look at Frederick, a look he couldn’t interpret, joined her mistress and her charge.

Too few hours later, after a brief night’s sleep, Yves, Frederick, and Robert met in the private parlor the latter had reserved. Another half-hour, breakfast, and good English ale under their vests, Yves inserted a word here and there as Frederick explained their association with the French party.

“We’ll be happy to have them as guests, Fred,” said Robert. “The young one will be company for Elizabeth, which will give your Miss Cole some freedom from worry.”

“Will it? Save her worry, I mean? Or perhaps you are suggesting that marriage has sobered Elizabeth, turning her into a sedate and settled matron?” Frederick was surprised at how easily the teasing words fell from his lips. He was also pleased; surely it meant he need not fear his first meeting with Elizabeth. “Hmm? Has it?”

Robert choked on the last of his brew. He laughed at the dry question. “No. I fear it has done no such thing.”

Frederick felt a fleeting sense of jealousy at the satisfaction he heard in his friend’s voice and decided he’d congratulated himself too soon. “Then Miss Cole will be more occupied than ever,” he said. “She’ll feel responsible for twice the trouble, if I know our Miss Cole. Poor Miss Cole,” he added.

Robert looked from Frederick to Yves. “The young one seemed very quiet, almost too quiet. Not the sort to cause anyone concern.”

Frederick and Yves turned to look at each other. They grinned. “Mademoiselle Françoise suffered, some, on the crossing. By now she will be returned to normal—”

As if to prove his words, the door burst open and Frani, with Miss Cole following more sedately, entered.

“—As you see,” he finished and turned toward the women. “I told you you’d recover once dry land was under your feet, child.”

“
Mais oui,
it was true, what you said, and now, me, I am hungry. Grand-mere had tea and toast, but
I
wish
food,
yes?” Frani strolled to the table and reached under the napkin for a leftover muffin. “Hmmm.”

“And you, Miss Cole?”

“I too would feel better for breakfast,” she agreed in her usual calm way. Yves rang for a waiter, and the two women were soon served.

“Now,” Sir Frederick suggested, “perhaps I should introduce you again to a connection of yours, Mademoiselle de Beaupre.” He did, giving Robert his full title and explaining the relationship.

Françoise answered prettily when Lord Halford offered his home, inviting the party to be his guests. “My wife will be glad of company, Mademoiselle,” he responded with a smile.

After again saying what was proper, Frani sent a speculative look toward Yves. “Now that I have eaten, I wish exercise. Monsieur de Bartigues? You too would like a stroll,
oui?
Me, I wish to look around now that I feel more up to things.”

“I think not, minx,” Frederick interrupted. Robert glanced from his friend to Yves but said nothing. “Any moment it will rain—storm, actually. You’ll do well to stay inside the inn.”

Françoise pouted. She wandered to the window and peered through the thick bluish panes. Harriet joined her there, pointing up at the heavy clouds. The girl’s shoulders drooped but, shortly, she recovered her spirits and returned to where the men were gathered around the fire. “You were making plans when we arrived, were you not? For me? My safety?” she asked.

“We were just coming to the point of making plans. We have two carriages and a party of—” Robert turned to Frederick, “—how many, old friend?”

“The women have two maids. I and Yves have valets. That’s nine. There is yourself and those you have with you?”

“Just my man, the coachy and a groom.”

“We have your carriage, and the one you’ve purchased for me. We must hire a post chaise for the servants and luggage,” Frederick decided.

Words passed back and forth quickly among the men until Miss Cole cleared her throat. “I fear this is premature, my lord,” she interrupted. “We cannot remove from here until Madame has recovered.”

Frederick sent a sharp look her way. “No. Of course not. Is she in a bad case?”

“No worse than one might expect. But rest, not another long journey in a swaying carriage, is essential. She is very tired. As you know, she never totally recovered from her, er,
illness
in Paris.”

“Grand-mere will wish to continue, Harriet. You know she will.”

“Yes. She will wish to. She will not rest entirely easy until she has settled your future with your grandfather.” Harriet’s lips firmed. “But, Frani, she must not attempt it today.” Miss Cole stood, nodded to the party. “I must return to her now. Come Françoise.”

Françoise shared a pleading glance amongst the men. “Must I?”

Harriet answered before one or another male could give in to that wistful look. “Yes, my dear, you must. England is a new country with different rules of conduct. You will have lost your reputation before ever reaching London if you stay here alone with the men.”

“She means, Mademoiselle Françoise, with
me
.”

“Quiet, Fred,” scolded Robert. “Do not listen to him, my child. Miss Cole meant exactly what she said. If I were a nearer relative than a mere great uncle-in-law—” Françoise giggled at the relationship. “—or if you were affianced to, say, Monsieur de Bartigues—” Her eyes flicked toward the young man indicated and the faintest rosy hue gave her complexion color. “—then, perhaps, you might stay. As it is, I fear you must not.” Robert bowed.

No one but Frederick noted the well-covered embarrassment Yves experienced when hypothetically tied to Françoise, and he wondered at it. Had his young friend fallen in love with the minx? An odd emotion, part hope that it was so and part concern filled him. Yves was a younger son, true, but of a fine old family. It would be a good match. The chit, however, was something of a flirt. She’d had no one but Yves on whom she might practice her wiles during their journey from Switzerland. Now, once she was settled in London and there was more game afoot, would she ignore Yves, hurt him?

Once the women had gone, Frederick told Robert about the man on the packet he feared was the comte’s spy, if not worse. He’d sent Cob to locate and keep an eye on him. “Something,” said Frederick, “must be done about that one. It would be best, I think, if he did not follow us to London.”

Robert nodded, and they fell silent, staring into the flames of the neat fire in the grate. Presently, and seemingly at random, Robert mentioned there was a third-rate acting company in town.

“Oh?” Frederick sat up, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“What think you?”

Old friends, their minds working in tandem, eyed each other.

“Oh, Wales, perhaps?” suggested Frederick. “Or, better, west to Wells and down into Cornwall?”

Robert entered a caveat. “Do you think they could get so far?”

Yves cleared his throat, his confusion obvious. “I seem to have lost my place in this discussion.”

Robert smiled. “The small acting companies are ever in need of funds.”

“And they are well-supplied with actresses and with men who occasionally take petticoat parts,” said Frederick. “Fine, tall, raw-boned maids those men would make, I’m sure.”

“And,” Robert added to Frederick’s comment, “because they need money, they are amenable to ... persuasion.” He rubbed his fingers together in a suggestive way.

The sentences flew at Yves from either side, and he turned his head back and forth at each additional bit of information. His eyes widened. A chuckle burst from him. “A ploy to trick the comte’s spy!” Another laugh, more robust, filled the room. “Have you,” he asked when he could speak again, “always read one another’s minds?”

“We had years of experience. It’s been essential at times that we follow one another’s thoughts.”

Yves sobered. “This is the friend you mentioned, Frederick?”

“Yes. We worked together throughout much of the war.”

“And now we will work together once more. I think a stroll to the theater and then, if they are not there at this hour, on to whatever boardinghouse the troupe has given its patronage? Some fresh air suits you?”

Thunder rolled and suddenly the windows streamed with water.

“Fresh
air
?” asked Yves.

“Wellington weather,” murmured Frederick, his eyes meeting Robert’s.

“Hmm. Then we are fated to successfully trick the comte’s man, are we not? At least long enough we may get the women safely to London.”

“I don’t understand,” complained Yves, once again.

“It always rained before or during Wellington’s greatest victories. It became something of a superstition amongst the foot soldiers. The rain might make the fighting more miserable, but it did great things for their morale nevertheless. That’s all.”

Nearly an hour later, wet and, he was certain, as miserable as any foot soldier had ever felt himself to be, Yves followed Frederick and Robert into the small parlor of a large ramshackle house situated not far from one of Dover’s less well known and, very likely, unlicensed theaters. Water streaming from their cloaks and the brims of their hats, they waited before the hastily built fire on the small hearth. It smoked. Frederick swore fluently in three languages between bouts of coughing.

Breaking off abruptly in mid-oath as the door opened, he bowed slightly to the tall greying man who entered. Another hour passed in negotiations but, in the end, all were pleased with the results. The money offered was generous, but on top of that, the troupe’s leader bargained for an introduction to the owner of one of London’s lesser known but well-run theaters. In the long run, that introduction would do the troupe far more good than any amount of money.

That evening the players announced their last performance in Dover.

“Me, I do not see why I must give over a perfectly good gown to a
salope
.” Françoise pouted.

“A more proper French word would be
souillon
,” Harriet scolded when her charge used the extremely vulgar word for trollop. “You’ve been promised a new wardrobe in London. Why worry about an old cloak and hat? Or the dress which I remember you once swore became you not?”