Magnificent Devices [5] A Lady of Resources (6 page)

“Have I proposed to her?” Another whirl. “Are you mad?”

Boys, honestly. “I meant, have you met any girls on your travels about the world?”

“Oh, lots,” he said in an airy tone that made her wonder if there was a girl waiting for him at every landing field on two continents. “But none that I like so well as you and Mags. We’re a flock, remember?”

Yes, like brothers and sisters. But that wasn’t what she wanted to know—and she was beginning to think that wasn’t what she wanted to be, either. “So no one special, then?”

“Why? Should you care if there was?”

“Of course I should. But you’re awfully young to be thinking of it, if there is.”

He squeezed her and laughed. “You’re the one who brought it up, so clearly you’re the one who’s thinking of it, and you’re even younger than me.”

“No one is going to propose to me, Tigg.”

Another squeeze, that somehow felt different this time. “Don’t be so sure. You’re a wealthy woman now, I hear.”

“I wouldn’t want a man who even thought of money.”

“We all have to live on something.” The music moved into the slow part, and he took both her hands, holding them crossed as the skaters did on the frozen Isar in the winter.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, if a man courted me because of what I had rather than what I am … that would be awful.”

“It’s a shame your five hundred guineas are already the talk of the town.”

Lizzie’s eyebrows went up. “They are?”

“Aye. I bet you sixpence that someone asks if he can court you before the end of the evening.”

“You would lose, Tom Terwilliger. I’m not out yet. The Lady would never permit it—and the earl would toss him off the ship for being forward.”

“Doesn’t mean a man wouldn’t try, on the sly, like. You’re a fine lady now, Liz. Too fine for the likes of some, but that wouldn’t prevent them trying.”

Something in his tone made her look up into his face, and she pulled him out of the current of dancers to a mahogany table with an arrangement of flowers on it that partially shielded them from view.

“What do you mean, Tigg?” She didn’t want to be fine, if it meant her friends no longer felt they could be friends with her. “I’m not too fine. I’m the same as ever—just with more knowledge in me noggin.”

His long lashes fell and he looked away. “Don’t talk like that. You’ve got on a silk gown and you have more money now than I’ll see in ten years of a lieutenant’s wages. You could have your pick of any of these gentlemen’s sons, if you wanted.”

“But I don’t want them.”

“You say that now, but when you’re eighteen, you’ll look at things differently, I promise you. With finishing school and some money, you’ll forget your old friends, and where you came from.”

What had got into him? And why would he not look at her with his usual frank, honest manner? “Not likely, and you know it.”

“Do I? How do I know?” Now he was looking at her, his dark brown gaze examining her—expecting her to look some way or say something—and not finding what he wanted.

That gaze unbalanced her to the point that she fell back on bravado. “Because I can still pick a pocket with the best of them—and if you tell the Lady I said that, I’ll pin you for a liar.”

“After five years of French lessons and lace-making and deportment, you can no more pick a pocket than I can. Besides, why would you want to?”

Lizzie’s temper, which seemed to boil up out of nowhere these days, began to sizzle deep inside her. So Tigg thought she’d got above herself, did he? Well, she’d just prove she hadn’t. She hadn’t forgotten where she came from, even if Mr. High-and-Mighty Lieutenant had.

“You bet sixpence that someone will ask if he can court me? Fine. I bet one of my gold guineas that I can pick a man’s pocket before the end of the evening.”

He was looking at her now, right enough. Staring in horror, in fact. Ha! “You would not.”

“You started this—and when have you ever known me to back down from a dare?”

“I didn’t mean it, Liz. You can’t. The Lady would have your hide, to say nothing of his lordship—and mine for putting the thought in your head.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“Then you ruddy well should be. Don’t you dare.”

Of course, the moment the words were out of his mouth, she had to take that dare. “I shall. And not just any old pocket, either. Anyone can lift a comb or a bit of change. A gold guinea is worth a—” Inspiration struck. “—a pocket watch!”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Watch me.”

“Lizzie!”

And before he could reach out to stop her, Lizzie had darted around the table and into the crowd, leaving him alone with the flowers—which had come out of the dirt and into polite society, too, with no one to judge or dare.

I wandered gentle as a cloud
. She’d had to learn that in Poetry and Drama. Or was it
lonely as a cloud?
Never mind, the point was that if she were to find a watch to pocket, she needed to drift about looking harmless and pretty, with enough firmness in her step that it would look as though she were looking for someone without committing exactly to whom.

Bother Tigg anyway.

Now that her unreliable mouth had got her into this, she was going to have to go through with it, even though, as Tigg had so rightly pointed out, the Lady would have a fit if she got wind of it—might even hustle her back to London without so much as a please or thank you—and as for finishing school … well, it wasn’t likely they’d admit a pickpocket among the bevy of young ladies, would they?

Oh, dear. She’d dug herself a moldy grave for true on this one. Once she’d proved her point to Tigg, she’d find a way to slip the gentleman’s watch back onto his person as quiet as you please, and then swear Tigg to secrecy for the remainder of his life.

“Miss Elizabeth, if I might have a word?”

Lizzie realized a moment too late that she had drifted right in front of Mr. Seacombe and was face to face with the gold lions on his waistcoat. Settling her expression into vacant politeness and trying not to stare at his spectacles while trying to see his eyes, she said, “Good evening, sir. Please allow me to thank you once again for your generosity, which I am afraid I do not deserve.”

“Nonsense. I conferred with your headmistress and of all the possibilities, you were the student who stood out.”

“But sir, Katrina—”

“Your concern for others is a credit to you, my dear. Say nothing more about it. I am happy to be in a position to give assistance where I see the need.”

Which was not terribly delicate of him, but Lizzie, eyeing the golden lions, was in no position to criticize. Like most gentlemen of her acquaintance, Seacombe kept his watch in its own pocket, with the chain extending across the stomach and hooking through the bottom buttonhole of the waistcoat. Her task, then, was to either find a man who did not wear a chain, or to find an opportunity to pop the fob through the buttonhole and lift the watch silently.

What she required was a distraction.

“Such modesty in a young woman,” he went on. “I should like to introduce my son to you, with your permission?”

Goodness. For a moment Lizzie wanted to cast about wildly for the Lady, who ought to be here to manage the situation. But then she stopped the impulse.
I am old enough to be introduced to someone, for goodness sake. Two minutes and I either get a chance at that watch or I don’t, but in either case I move on to more congenial company.

Vacant politeness became pleasant expectation.

“Miss Elizabeth de Maupassant, may I present my son, Claude Seacombe. He is in his third year at the Sorbonne, and will be joining me in the business upon his graduation.” He laughed. “Though his will not, perhaps, have the fanfare of that of your guardian.”

Lizzie smiled and extended her hand to the young man looming over his father’s shoulder. Goodness, he was tall. And very handsome, if you liked macassar oil and merry blue eyes and exceedingly white teeth.

And dimples. He smiled at her in return and bowed over her hand as if she were a great lady. Then he straightened and squeezed her fingers, as if she were an utter flirt. “My very great pleasure, Miss de Maupassant. I hope you are enjoying your celebration party?”

“I am, thank you.” She removed her hand from his.

He glanced from her to the couples whirling past. “But what’s this? You’re not dancing. I must rectify this situation at once. May I have the honor?”

“But I’m not yet—”

Whether she was out yet or not, it didn’t make a bit of difference, since clearly he’d seen her dancing with Tigg. He swung her onto the dance floor, where she felt a bit like a duck doing the polka with a stork. He was such a weed that she barely came up to his shoulder.

She hadn’t had much practice in polite conversation with young men with whom introductions were necessary, either. What did one say in situations like this? “Do you have plans for the summer, sir?” she finally asked, a little breathlessly. His hold rode just on the edge of propriety, close and warm despite the speed of their movements, but not yet offensive.

“Oh yes. The pater is spending the warm months in England, you know, which we do every summer that we’re not traveling.”

“Oh? You have a home there, too?”

“Yes, a grand old pile he bought from some impoverished lord. His breeding couldn’t pay the taxes, so it was going for a song. Papa considered buying the title along with it, but that seemed a bit
nouveau riche
, don’t you know.”

“Your … pater … is a man of restraint as well as sensitivity, then.”

Claude laughed. “I don’t know about that. You haven’t seen him going at it in the gambling salons in Monte Carlo.”

“And your mother? Does she travel with you?”

The laughter faded, and Claude steered her into a turn. “My mother is no longer with us in any form. She died when I was just a puppy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t worry your pretty head. It was a long time ago—I’m twenty-one now, and past the age of needing my mother.”

Lizzie wondered how anyone could be past needing a mother, or a father. She and Maggie had had neither for many years. But sometimes, when she woke in the night after a dream of water and navy-blue skirts, she got a tight feeling, like a scab that was trying to grow over a wound.

Even now, deep down, she missed her mother. Missed even the memories of her. Didn’t most people have those, at least?

Claude peered into her face. “Did I say something to offend you, Miss de Maupassant?”

“No. No, of course not. I have no memory of my own mother, that’s all.” Which was a terribly personal thing to admit to a perfect stranger. She pasted on a smile. “So tell me about this pile. Is it terribly grand?”

Another turn, and a whirl out and in. He really was a good dancer—better than Tigg, if it wasn’t too disloyal of her to say so.

“It is—or at least, it will be once the pater pours some cash into it. It’s actually a castle—there’s a keep and a bailey and a moat that has flowers in it now instead of water, and two big towers on the corners. Her Majesty stayed in one of them once. Hence they call it the Queen’s Tower.”

“It sounds lovely. Fancy a moat filled with flowers.”

“You’ll have to come and see it.” A flash of those white teeth, and mischief in the merry eyes. “I can get Papa to invite your guardian and the Dunsmuirs. It would be quite the social coup for him.”

Lizzie didn’t know as much about the finer points of society as she hoped to once she finished school in Geneva, but even she was aware this was a little bit much to divulge to a young lady under their protection.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said cheerfully. “I’m quite the free spirit, you know. Say what I mean and none of this polite flummery that causes people to misunderstand one another. I’m all about clarity—and good fun, of course. Especially in the company of a pretty young lady.”

Lizzie hadn’t blushed in so long she’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Heat crept into her cheeks and she kept her eyes down so she wouldn’t see him laughing at her. Blushing probably wasn’t the done thing among his fashionable friends, either.

“Come, come, Miss de Maupassant. Surely you’ve heard a man say such things before.”

“No,” she managed. And in the interests of clarity, she said, “It’s my first proper compliment.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Are there improper compliments?”

The cheek of him! “I’m sure you would know more about that than I. The polka is over, sir. I should like a glass of punch, if you don’t mind.”

“A paragon of proper behavior. Come, let’s find the pater. I want to share my bright idea with him.”

Fortunately, Seacombe was standing not far away, and while Claude cantered off to get her some punch, she smiled at him and prepared to be her own distraction.

“I see your interest in my spectacles,” he said, removing them and handing the double-lensed marvels to her. “My eyes do not seem to react well to the electricks over here on the Continent. They seem to be of a harsher persuasion than those in England. I find the amber lenses helpful.”

“I should not want to cause you discomfort.” She lifted her gaze to his and—

—tiger eyes—

—a crack in the door—

She dropped the spectacles.

“Careful, now—”

“I’m so sorry, how clumsy—”

He bent, but she beat him to it, handing them up to him as she crouched. And as he straightened and held the lenses up to check them for damage, she straightened, too, her clever fingers working his watch fob through the buttonhole. In less time than her next breath, she lifted the watch from its pocket and stuffed it into the one sewn into the side seam of her gown. Simultaneously, she raised her right hand to tend the curls MacMillan had teased from her Psyche knot, as if they had been disordered in their little
contretemps
.

His gaze followed her hand as he adjusted the spectacles on his nose, and she pulled her left hand from her pocket just in time to accept the glass of punch from Claude.

Breathe. Calm your heart before it beats right out of your chest.

“Pater, I was telling Miss de Maupassant about Colliford Castle. Wouldn’t it be a fine plan to invite the Dunsmuirs and Lady Claire for a house party? Perhaps the week my set will be there. We’re going to race our boats on the river, you know,” he added, turning to Lizzie. “Have you ever rowed?”

The closest she’d ever been to a boat was the coracles they used in the surf below Gwynn Place, and in the old days, the skiff they used to cross the river from the cottage.

“A little. Not big ones, though—that would be lovely.” Which was a bald-faced lie. She liked boats and water even less than she liked airships—or rather, than her stomach did.

“A capital plan,” Seacombe said heartily. Goodness, did fathers normally agree to have houseguests they’d only just met? Or was he so used to Claude and his “set” racketing about that it was just another lot of place settings to order at dinner?

“I shall speak to your guardian directly, Miss de Maupassant. In the meanwhile, do enjoy your party. Shall I see you over to Lady Claire?”

“No, thank you. I want a word with Captain Hollys.” She dropped a curtsey and hurried in the direction of the captain, who was laughing with Mr. Yau as they tucked into the cakes.

Directly past them was the door into the corridor, and she hurried along it until she found the cabin that Lady Dunsmuir was in the habit of giving them when they travelled together. Only when the carved, glossy door closed behind her did she take a long breath and sink onto the lower bunk.

Amber eyes. Tiger eyes.

—a crack—

—and then the smoke and the cold—

Was it a memory? Or a dream?