Amanda Scott (17 page)

“To suggest that this lady has property which is not her own is itself an offense,” Greyfalcon pointed out gently.

The man flushed. “Never said such a thing. Must have been in error all along. Pray you will forgive me, sir.”

“That’s better. Now run along. And you,” he added, waiting only until the man was out of earshot before taking Sylvia’s arm in a grip not much gentler than the other’s had been, “will come straight along to my library and explain this matter to me. And don’t think for a moment that I will listen patiently to such faradiddles as I know from vast experience that you are capable of fabricating. I’ll have the truth, or you’ll soon wish you’d remained in Oxfordshire.”

On the doorstep, he dismissed Albert, telling him that he would see Miss Jensen-Graham safely returned to Berkeley Square, that it was unnecessary for Lady Reston to be deprived of her footman or her coachman’s services any longer. Though Sylvia bristled with indignation at this cavalier treatment, something in Greyfalcon’s tone or in his manner gave her to understand that silence would be wiser than speech, so, albeit with difficulty, she held her tongue.

Inside, they passed through the hall together, but when Sadie attempted to accompany them into the library, Greyfalcon shut the door firmly in her face with the recommendation that she take a seat in the hall and await results. “I shall thus know where to send the remains,” he said to Sylvia when they were alone. “You may take a seat there by the fire or remain standing, but I want a round tale, and I’d advise you not to try my patience, my girl. I already owe you for putting it into my devoted parent’s head that a sojourn in town would do her good.”

“She is truly here, then? I had a note from her this morning. She is expecting me, sir.”

“Then she will continue to do so. Will you sit?”

Sylvia hesitated, weighing the relative merits of losing whatever vantage might be gained by continuing to stand against the knowledge that he would also have to remain standing. At the moment, he was standing entirely too close for her comfort. She summoned up a smile. “I should be glad to sit, sir. And perhaps you would not mind ringing for refreshment. ’Tis a dry day.”

Greyfalcon shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t. You may have as much refreshment as you like just as soon as you join my mama in her drawing room. Now, however, you are going to tell me what that detestable oaf wanted with you on my doorstep that he was willing to chance being flattened by your footman and battered by your maid. I only preceded the former by virtue of the fact that I was on the point of departing when he knocked and was looking toward the street while he had his back to you. I daresay I nearly pushed him off the steps.”

“You were very quick, my lord.” She regarded him with gratitude and no little admiration. “I knew I had nothing to fear when I saw you were there.”

“Enough of that,” he retorted. “You’ll get little cheer out of flattery.” There was a silence. “I am waiting.”

She looked up then, her mouth open to tell him that he might continue to wait with her goodwill, but the words died upon her lips. His expression made it clear that further delay would be unwise. “I wish you will sit down, sir.”

“No doubt.” He made no move. “Well?”

She sighed. “Honestly, Greyfalcon, you make me feel as though I were back at Miss Pennyfarthing’s.” He said nothing, and she sighed again. “Very well, it is a book he wants. I suppose he is another in the pay of the Regent, for I have not had a single word from Mr. Perceval.”

Greyfalcon looked at her for a long moment as though by doing so he might make sense of her words. When she said no more, merely waited to hear his reply, he frowned; then, finally and to her relief, he took his seat in the chair behind the large desk. “You will have to clarify the matter a bit more,” he said then. “What on earth has the Regent to do with that specimen out on the pavement?”

“Well, I do not know that he has anything to do with him,” Sylvia said fairly, “but Major Teufel, who visited me at Reston House yesterday, is certainly Prinny’s man.”

“His highness’s man,” Greyfalcon said. His thoughts did not seem to be on his words, however, for he went on at once, “What book? And why does it interest the Regent?”

So she told him about
The Delicate Investigation
, and it seemed he had read the rumors himself, for he did not exclaim and insist that she must be mistaken, as others had done. Instead, when she had finished, he said, “I believe I had better take possession of this book for you.”

“Indeed not, sir. ’Tis worth a great deal of money to me, and I should like very much to have that money.”

“Then you shall. Good grief, Sylvia, I don’t intend to rob you.”

The door opened just then without ceremony, and her father stepped into the room. “Good morning, my dear,” he said, eyeing them both rather reproachfully. “Do you think you ought to be closed in here like this with Greyfalcon? Not the thing, I assure you, not the thing at all. Her ladyship is awaiting you in her drawing room, and I think it would be—”

“Oh, no she is not,” said the countess, stepping in behind him. “As though I should leave poor Sylvia to Greyfalcon’s clutches. How dare you accost my callers upon the doorstep, sir?” she demanded. “What would people say?”

“Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know what they would say,” her son replied easily, “for Miss Jensen-Graham was certainly accosted upon our doorstep, though not, I hasten to say, by me.”

“What is this, daughter?”

“What happened, dearest? Oh, Francis, how dreadful!”

“I am fine, Papa.” Sylvia rose to greet him, giving him a light kiss and a hug. “Greyfalcon most fortunately came to my rescue and brought me in here that I might recuperate my forces before paying my respects.”

“Not quite that, sir,” Greyfalcon said, having also come to his feet. “The person who accosted your daughter”—here he smiled at Sylvia, who was glaring at him—“seemed to think she had a certain book in her possession that he wished to obtain.”

“Book? What book?” Lord Arthur turned to Sylvia for enlightenment. “Not that book, surely. Do you mean to tell me it is worth so much, Sylvia? For I had not thought others would wish to get their hands upon it, but five thousand, now I come to think of it, is certainly motive enough—”

“Five thousand?” Lady Greyfalcon exclaimed. “Not pounds! You have a book worth five thousand pounds, and you simply handed it to Sylvia to bring with her, thinking she would be traveling on the common stage, sir? Gracious, I cannot imagine what you were thinking. What a good thing I intervened and sent her in my own traveling coach. You would have much to answer for, Arthur, if your poor daughter had been robbed on the high road. Indeed, you would.”

To Sylvia’s astonishment, her father attempted to placate Lady Greyfalcon by insisting that he had not had the faintest belief in Sylvia’s tale regarding the five thousand, that he had merely wished to indulge her in a little trip to town and had no use for the book. This tack availed him little, for her ladyship would have none of it. It was Greyfalcon who put a stop to what looked like becoming a full-blown gale by recommending that his parent do her possible to convince Miss Jensen-Graham that she must, for her own safety, give the book into his keeping.

Lady Greyfalcon turned immediately to Sylvia. “Oh, yes, my dear, of course you must do that at once, for Francis will be much better able to approach Mr. Perceval, you know, and from what you have told us, it truly is not safe for you to retain possession. Indeed, I believe it cannot be safe for you to remain at Reston House any longer. You must come to us here. It is perfectly proper, you know, for I shall be pleased to welcome you as my guest. Indeed, if you are here, there is no need for your papa to put up at the Clarendon, as he did last night. He can stay here, too. We shall all be quite jolly together, I daresay.”

Sylvia glanced at Greyfalcon, and the expression of utter dismay on his countenance was nearly enough to induce her to accept Lady Greyfalcon’s invitation on the spot.

S
YLVIA’S ORIGINAL INTENTION HAD
been to refuse Lady Greyfalcon’s invitation, albeit most politely, and return to Reston House; however, both her hostess and Lord Arthur insisted that she remain in Curzon Street. It was only when she realized that she could not hope to persuade her father to part with more money if she resisted his efforts to convince her to remove to Greyfalcon House that she gave in to their arguments. She could not continue to impose upon Lady Joan’s generosity forever, and until Greyfalcon managed to meet with Mr. Perceval, to offer him the book, she would have no money of her own.

She did hesitate upon the brink of refusal, however, for it occurred to her that she would have a great deal more freedom of movement if she stayed with Lady Joan. Now that she was in London, she wished to indulge herself in some social activity, and both Greyfalcon and his mama were in mourning. She mentioned this fact, only to bring upon herself a mild reproof from her father.

“Lady Greyfalcon has been most generous, my dear,” he began, “so if she has a wish to share your companionship—”

“Oh, piffle, Arthur, the poor girl don’t want to dance attendance on me, and no more she should. She is young and you have kept her cooped up in Oxfordshire these past years without the slightest effort to see her properly married. Of course, she ought to go out and about, and you must see that she is properly rigged out, too.”

“But, my dear ma’am, Sylvia has had a Season, and a pretty penny it cost me, too, and nothing at all came of it—”

“Don’t interrupt me, if you please. When your sister brought Sylvia to town, the poor girl was expecting to marry our Christopher and made not the least push to engage the affections of any other eligible man. Quite right, too. No one could have expected her to do so.”

“But she and Christopher were not betrothed,” Lord Arthur protested.

“Much you know,” said the countess. She smiled at Sylvia. “I cannot take you about myself, of course, my dear, but there is not the least reason that you should not continue to go about with Lady Joan if she wishes to sponsor you. She is well-liked and comes of an excellent family. And although they say she was a bit of a scamp in her earlier years, I have heard only good things about her since she married Reston. He is rather a slug himself—not much fun, I daresay—so she will be pleased to have your company. And if she cannot always manage to take you about, I have other friends who will be glad to oblige you. You have only to tell me when you require a chaperon.”

“Really, Mama, I cannot think that Sylvia ought to be allowed to go about with only the brainless Lady Joan for a chaperon. The blind leading the blind, if you ask me.”

“Well, no one did, Francis,” retorted his mother, eyeing him rather grimly. “I have hitherto said nothing to you about the state in which I found this house upon my arrival, and I shall say nothing now except that I am grateful that I had the forethought to bring my own people up to town with me. That Wigan of yours—really, you ought to be ashamed, sir—the man is no more a butler than I am, and poor Mrs. Wigan could scarcely bring herself to look me in the eye. The whole house in holland covers except for this room and the drawing room, and I daresay your bedchamber.”

“If you had warned me of your impending arrival—”

“Yes, I daresay, but since you had been living here for years, it simply didn’t occur to me that any warning was required, and this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it, I might add.”

Sylvia stared from one to the other, astonished by the change that had been wrought in the countess. This was not the same vague, whining creature she had left behind in Oxfordshire. This was a lady capable of command, a lady, moreover, whose temper had clearly been aroused. To see Lord Arthur seemingly wrapped around the countess’s thumb had been peculiar enough, but to witness Lady Greyfalcon reprimanding her generally awe-inspiring son was another matter altogether. Sylvia waited with bated breath for his reaction, but when it came, she was disappointed.

“Very well, ma’am,” Greyfalcon said quietly, a slight flush in his cheeks. “I daresay you have the right of it. I ought to have looked after things better here.”

“Indeed,” said the countess, having the last word. “Do you come with me, Sylvia, and we will see if any of the bedchambers other than my own has been turned out. You would not credit the amount of dust I found when I arrived. If what I have seen is any example of the best she can do, Mrs. Wigan ought to be dismissed.”

“Oh, no, ma’am, I am persuaded she has done all she can do under trying circumstances.”

“Indeed, and what circumstances might those be, if I may ask?”

Sylvia stared at her hostess in dismay, realizing that she was not supposed to know a thing about the manner in which Greyfalcon conducted his household. Thinking quickly, she said, “I am sure I couldn’t say, ma’am, but one does hear rumors, you know.”

Lady Greyfalcon nodded. “Of course, my dear. I did not realize those rumors were quite so widespread that you should have heard them. If they are true, I daresay Mrs. Wigan has had difficulty finding maids willing to work here. I do know that Yardley would not tell me such things as he has told me if he did not fear I would hear them from other sources.”

Sylvia had forgotten Lord Yardley, but now she remembered an earlier conversation when her ladyship had complained about her brother’s labeling her son a rake. Lady Greyfalcon had undoubtedly heard all the rumors that were going. Did she know then the sorts of parties her son liked to give in her house?

It appeared that she did. “My own housekeeper, Mrs. Holt, discovered such items in one bedchamber as you would not believe,” she said now. “Some of Francis’s guests have not behaved as they ought, I fear.”

Remembering the things Mrs. Wigan had said to her, Sylvia could not bring herself to reply to this statement, and did her best instead to turn her hostess’s mind to more practical matters. “I am persuaded, ma’am, that everything will run smoothly now. Even his lordship is all admiration for the capabilities of your butler and housekeeper. Who is looking after things at Greyfalcon Park in their absence?”