Lord Scoundrel Dies (9 page)

‘I promised I would be at a dance at the
Bradshaw’s?’

‘You did. Three days ago in the park. You
promised her faithfully.’

He was tempted to ask her
if he’d been drunk at the time but that didn’t seem likely. He
didn’t usually promenade around Hyde Park while in his cups, well
not for several years anyway. He remembered meeting Celeste and
Miss Beauchamp, of course and had stopped to pass the time (as
they’d spotted him before he could get away). It was entirely
possible he
might
have promised to turn up at some dance or another while he was
trying to manage a graceful exit because a man tended to babble all
manner of nonsense if he felt desperate. But it was most unfair of
Celeste to call him on it now.

‘Do I have to go?’

‘Aubrey, don’t you
like
Felicity?’ Celeste
demanded, hands settling on her hips. She was the sweetest of
creatures, in the general run of things, but she could turn
difficult upon occasion. He did not want this to be one of those
occasions. He’d had enough excitement in his life of
late.

‘I like her well enough. Of course I do.’
There wasn’t anything to dislike about Miss Beauchamp apart from
her peculiar desire to get her hooks into him so this was entirely
true.

‘Then you’ll come to the dance?’

He considered his options. If he said he
would go and didn’t, he would hear a long litany of complaint on
the morrow. If he did go, however, he could probably get away with
an hour, a dance with the lady and a quick exit. And no tiresome
recriminations over breakfast the next morning from an aggrieved
Celeste.

‘Yes,’ he said, putting the best face on it
that he could. ‘Of course. Apparently I promised that I would.’

Celeste’s parting smile was dazzling but the
mood that she left him in was not. He glowered at the door for a
time before his thoughts returned to Harriet Honeywood. Not that he
wanted them to. He wanted to forget about the wretched creature
entirely, right along with what had happened the evening before.
But he did hope that she would realise just how dangerous returning
items to the desperate might be. Perhaps if he did happen to run
into her somewhere, he might have a quiet word in her ear. Just to
be sure she understood that some things were better left alone.

Chapter Four

The Bradshaw event was not a ball but a more
informal affair, which allowed for a variety of merry dancing,
incorporating the popular country reels that were often left out of
grander occasions due to their frivolous nature. But they really
were a lot of fun and very popular. Under such circumstances, it
was hardly surprising that quite a lot of people were crowding the
spacious apartments.

Harry was in good spirits when she walked
through the door, having experienced a moderately successful day in
her latest endeavor. Her ponderings the night before had led her to
believe that the undertaking was not going to be easy, so it was
heartening that she should have enjoyed a small triumph so
soon.

She had identified the owners of several of
the label packets of chits and had the great good luck of
encountering one of them in the park. Lady Helena Astor, a dashing
matron whose élan and high-spirits was much admired by all, had
apparently owed a quite astounding amount of money to Lord Sutton.
Somewhere in the region of fourteen hundred pounds, if Harry’s
quick calculations were accurate. The amount made her eyes water.
To lose so much money at cards! How could one do such a thing? Why
that sum would keep her own parents’ household in funds for several
years. More, in all likelihood. She had clicked her tongue in
dismay, perfectly sure that Lady Astor must be in a dreadful state
about her situation. Returning the lady’s chits to her was
certainly a good place to start. Harry often saw her ladyship when
she was out and about with her cousin or her aunt for the woman was
a complete gadabout. How difficult would it be to slip the small
bundle of papers into her bag or… or something without her
noticing? Harry had tucked the chits into her reticule, right along
with Mrs. Butterworth’s brooch and Cicely Gresham’s earrings before
setting out with Sarah and Aunt Margaret on the daily shopping
excursion that seemed to Harry to be more about being seen than
shopping. Not that she objected. Today she wanted to be out and
about.

‘We can walk back through the park,’ her
aunt had decided, eyeing her daughter’s pale blue walking gown
consideringly. ‘It will show off that new dress of yours to
perfection.’

They had been walking back through the park
when Harry had spied Lady Astor talking with some of her cronies,
her laughter like the tinkle of little silver bells. Having seen
how much the woman had owed Lord Sutton, Harry could only marvel
that the woman could drag up so much as a smile but there you were.
Lord Astor was rumored to be very well off so perhaps his wife
wasn’t particularly fussy about owing such an enormous amount. Or
perhaps, she reflected wryly, the lady just put on a very good
show.

Harry’s footsteps had slowed while she
considered the situation. This was her opportunity for Lady Astor
was a deal more problematic than either lady whose jewelry Harry
was carrying. Her aunt did not run in the same social circles,
being a little too old and a lot too prudent to keep up with such a
fast set. Intimate moments were unlikely to occur. Ideally, Harry
wanted to tuck the woman’s debts into a part of her ensemble that
only she would see. It would be disastrous if somebody else got
hold of them. Eyeing the group around her ladyship, it quickly
became apparent that there was no easy way to do what she
wished.

Her aunt had stopped to stare back at her in
surprise. ‘Harriet? Why are you dawdling, my dear?’

Harry had been forced to think fast. ‘I am
almost sure I saw Lord Luscombe.’

Lord Luscombe was the gentleman most mothers
wanted their daughters to meet and, hopefully, marry. He was
astoundingly rich, so much so that his slight speech impediment and
lack of chin could easily be overlooked. The problem was that he
was painfully shy, so getting the opportunity to dazzle him was
tricky. The park would be a splendid opportunity but he did not
often take himself out for an airing, having found the interest he
necessarily generated by his appearances to be more than his nerves
could bear.

‘Lord Luscombe?’ Aunt Margaret had repeated,
her eyes immediately turning to scan the area. As did Sarah’s as
she was not averse to the idea of marrying a great deal of money
and at least his lordship was under thirty. ‘Where was it that you
saw him?’

‘Over there. I’m almost sure I saw him
heading into that arbor. He’s so very distinctive looking isn’t
he?’ At six foot, two inches and painfully thin, his lordship had
been likened to an ungainly spider.

‘What arbor?’ Already both women had
instinctively started heading in the direction that Harry had
indicated.

‘Just behind… is it Lady Astor over
there?’

‘Lady Astor. Oh yes… perhaps we might walk
in that direction and say hello,’ her aunt had agreed, deciding
that it would not do to look like she and her daughter were hunting
the luckless peer. ‘I had not noticed dear Lady Astor but it would
be rude of me to pass by without any kind of greeting.’

Harry had followed on with satisfaction. At
least she had managed to bring herself into her quarry’s orbit.
With both Aunt Margaret and Sarah keen on moving into the arbor
where Lord Luscombe was apparently lurking – not as unlikely as it
sounded as he was a rare enough species to take fright and hide –
it did not take a great deal of effort on Harry’s part to suggest
to the entire group that they see what floral delights were on
offer in the arbor. ‘For I am new to London and the park is so
wonderful, is it not?’

As expected, this artless observation was
seconded by her aunt and somehow the entire group was moving
towards the manicured opening of the arbor.

The thing about walking in
the park, Harry had noticed since arriving in town is that one did
not necessarily
walk
in it. Not like home, when one tended to stride across the
fields and the like. That was probably because at home, one wanted
to actually get somewhere. Walking in Hyde Park was more about
being seen, about admiring outfits and the ladies – or gentlemen –
in them. It was an opportunity to take the air as one gawped about,
to pass judgment on fashion
faux
pas
and allow gentlemen to greet you and
pass the time of day. It was, in fact, more of a parade than an
actual opportunity to exercise and ladies did love to stroll along
slowly while they chatted. Harry usually found this exceedingly
tedious but today she was grateful for the creeping
pace.

Once in the arbor, dear Lady Astor deposited
herself on one of the thoughtfully placed wide, stone benches. She
was discussing a particularly amusing occurrence with Mrs. Bellamy
and her daughter, Priscilla. They sat down as well but naturally
Aunt Margaret and Sarah, intent on the elusive Lord Luscombe, did
not.

‘Excuse me,’ Harry had murmured, having hung
back. She perched delicately on the edge of the seat just behind
Lady Astor. ‘But I do believe I have a stone in my boot. It won’t
take me but a moment to remove it.’

This was not met with any great interest nor
did she think it would be as she was not important enough to tickle
the lady’s interest. She focused on removing her boot off her foot
and the chits out of her reticule. Lady Astor’s reticule – a pretty
little thing of Chinese silk – lay not a foot from her fingers. The
thin, worked silk cord was drawn together and looped around the
lady’s wrist, but loosely, the bag itself lying idle on the bench
beside her.

Harry did not hesitate because he – or she –
who hesitates is lost. She had no idea what she would say if she
were caught, other than to beg a private word and a hurried
explanation. Her heart was pounding as she quickly slipped the top
of the little bag open, being sure not to pull on it. With one,
deft movement, she stuffed the small collection of papers inside
and tightened the chord again, before bending back to her shoe. It
all took no more than ten seconds and went utterly unremarked, the
group being far too interested in Mrs. Bellamy’s rather cruel
account of a rival’s unfortunate ball gown that had consisted of
pink and blue stripes. Women, Harry reflected as she replaced her
slipper, could be utter cats. She was glad she did not have such
nasty relationships, glad that the only genuine relationships she
had were with people she cared about.

When Aunt Margaret reappeared, remarking
rather irritably, and with a meaningful look at her niece, that she
could not find anything remarkable in the arbor, Harry rose to her
feet and came around to her.

‘Perhaps it was all too much for the poor
fellow and he escaped,’ she had murmured. ‘I have heard he is very
fleet on his feet.’

‘There’s nowhere to escape to,’ her aunt had
hissed back. ‘Unless he escaped through the shrubbery.’

‘A desperate man is prepared to do
anything,’ Harry had commented solemnly and they had taken their
leave of their companions after a few more minutes of polite
conversation.

So it was with a very optimistic outlook
that she approached the Bradshaw dance. She had brought Miss
Gresham’s earrings but had left Mrs. Butterworth’s brooch as her
aunt happened to mention that she was out of town. Not to worry.
She would arrange to meet with Mr. Lampforth somewhere else when
she saw him so that he could better study the things that she
needed help with.

The dance really was great fun, especially
as she was not short of partners. Aunt Margaret had commented that
it wouldn’t be long before she was receiving very respectable
offers if Harry kept up the good work, as if Harry were a clever
child who was getting the answers to her sums right. Put in that
light, dancing with various gentlemen became rather less fun. She
knew that she was expected to form an eligible alliance with
somebody but it had been easy to rusticate that thought somewhere
in the back of her mind while she got her bearings in London. Harry
enjoyed the dancing and the lighthearted banter with her partners.
But she couldn’t say that any of them made her heart beat hard or
her pulse flutter.

I daresay it’s all the
fault of the novelists
, she
reflected.
They give one such high
expectations but really, how likely is it that some man is going to
make me go all giddy? I’m simply not the giddy type.

It was a lowering thought that her aunt was
considering her marital state so soon into her visit but Harry was
too optimistic to be downhearted for long. If she received offers
for her hand then so be it. She would deal with the matter when,
and if, it happened. There was no point in dwelling on something
that had yet to take place.

By ten-thirty there was still no sign of Mr.
Lampforth and Harry was beginning to feel quite cross with him. Had
he decided that he wanted nothing more to do with the matter? She
would have expected as much from the stuffy Lord Talisker but Mr.
Lampforth had seemed far livelier in his outlook. She was about
ready to give up on him entirely when he abruptly appeared at her
side at the buffet table.

‘Mr. Lampforth,’ she observed severely, ‘you
are late.’

‘I’ve been here for awhile but it took me
awhile to recognize you,’ he confessed, spearing several slices of
ham.

‘Oh? Why is that?’

‘Because the last time I saw you, you
weren’t wearing petticoats. You look different as a female.
More…’