Miss Westlake's Windfall (6 page)

Leo shook his head, but took the money pouch out of his coat. “I suppose this must have fallen out of your pocket when you parted company with your horse, then.”

“By Jove, I am happy to see the deuced thing! I’ve been searching half the afternoon, dash it. And, yes, I’d wager that was precisely what happened. I lost the purse when I fell. Too dark to see it at the time, of course.”

“It would be dark as Hades, I’d guess, in Miss Westlake’s orchard. That’s where the brass was found.”

“What were you doing—? That is, yes, it was quite dark. Foolish of me to take the shortcut through the orchard, I know. But as long as the blunt’s recovered, no harm done.” Chas motioned toward his injured wrist. “Well, no permanent harm, at any rate.”

“In an apple tree.”

Chas didn’t know whether to pray for quick death, or for strength enough to wipe that knowing grin off Leo’s face. He went on the offensive. “What the deuce were you doing in Ada’s orchard?”

“I? Whoever said I was ambling about the apples? No, your little lady found it.”

“She’s not my anything.”

“And brought it to me. At Jake’s.”

Now Chas knew what to pray for this Sunday, at any rate: patience not to murder the both of them, the smirking smuggler and his once would-have-been wife. If he ground his teeth any harder, they’d be down to nubs. “No lady goes into Jake’s.”

“This one did.” Leo tossed the purse from hand to hand. “She seemed to think the brass belonged to me, ill-gotten gain from the French trade.”

The viscount snatched for the pouch with his one good hand, and missed. “Well, it doesn’t and it isn’t.”

“Aye, but who does it belong to, then? You? The little angel?”

“To Prelieu, if he gets here. The man will need it to make a new life for himself. And don’t call Ada an angel.”

“Why not? You did it t’other night while in your cups.”

“Dash it, can’t you forget that night? I said and did a great many remarkably idiotic things I do not wish to discuss, Miss Westlake being the foremost topic I do not wish to address.”

“I might be convinced to lose the evening from my memory, my friend, if you’d explain how you came to lose both a fortune and a bout of fisticuffs to an apple tree, on the same day you lost your bid for the angel—for Miss Ada’s hand.”

Chas knew there was no putting his friend off, not when such a tasty morsel was so tantalizingly near. Leo was worse than Tally on a good scent. He was equally as trustworthy, too, though. Just as Chas would never need to count the money in the purse, he would never worry about Leo Tobin spreading the tale of his ignominy.

“Very well, I was not thinking clearly, thanks to you and your Blue Ruin, and there was Prelieu’s purse, going begging. I got the knacky idea that if Ada had money of her own, she would not feel I was offering her charity by offering her marriage. She’d be able to relieve some of the worst burdens on her shoulders, and perhaps start thinking of her own future instead of her family and her brother’s inheritance.”

“Yes, I heard all about the noble Sir Emery.”

“Noble, hell. If the cawker had any honor he’d sell out and come take care of his own dependents, not leave it for a barely grown sister. The dead brother wasted everything on cards and lavish living; now this living one thinks it’s more honorable to die in Portugal than manage his estates. Steps can be taken to restore the properties and the income, but only Emery can make the decisions. If I could do it, I’d go shoot the nodcock myself—not fatally, of course—so he’d be sent home.”

“I could ...”

“No. Anyway, Ada would never accept the money from my hand—might as well marry me, otherwise—so I decided to leave it where I knew she’d be.”

“In a tree?”

“That part of the plan was not my best, I admit. Nor standing up in the saddle to put it there.”

“So what are you going to do about it now?” Leo had stopped tossing the pouch and was rubbing Tally’s silky ears while the dog leaned against his booted legs.

“I am not going to do anything. You are going to restore the pouch to Ada.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Well, I cannot very well do it, can I? How would I explain having come by the blasted thing? Besides, the sight of my phiz is bound to frighten her half to death.”

“Seems to me that any miss with backbone enough to walk into Jake’s with an unloaded pistol ain’t about to swoon at the sight of a few minor cuts and scrapes.”

Minor? Chas felt as ugly as an ape, especially next to Leo’s handsome face. “No, you send it with a message that she is free to keep the blunt. Tell her you made inquiries, and the money has nothing to do with you or your operations.”

Leo stopped petting the dog to brush a piece of straw off his superfine-clad sleeve. “So I send the money back. How is that going to solve your problem?”

Like finding a woman to marry? Hah. Chas bent to pat Tally’s head, so Leo could not see his despair. “My problems don’t matter. The cash might buy Ada some time with the banks, or some new breeding stock. She might even buy herself a new bonnet or something.”

“What about Prelieu?” Leo asked, lighting a cigarillo. He offered one to Chas, who refused. “I am not encouraged that we’ve had no word, but if another band had set him ashore, we’ll hear soon.”

“He knew the dangers, so he must have changed his mind. Or else the French changed it for him, deeming even an under-exchequer of the army too valuable to lose sight of. Hell, the man knew how many guns Napoleon was ordering and where they were being sent, how many officers were on the payroll, and which Englishmen were being paid for information.” The viscount shrugged. “He would have been valuable, but we’ll find the names we need some other way. I can easily get more cash if he does make an eventual appearance.”

“That’s it? You are just going to give up on Prelieu and Miss Ada?”

“I am not giving up, dash it, I am giving her back the money. Or you are.”

“You are giving up your suit of her, though, aren’t you? If she married you, she wouldn’t need this piddling purse.”

Chas kicked at a pebble on the well-swept floor. “She made me swear not to ask her again.”

“Bah. You must have made a rare mull of your courting, Charlie. Why, if I had your title and fortune—and my face— I could have any woman I wanted.”

“Not Ada. She isn’t mercenary.”

Leo ground his cigarillo out under his boot heel. He’d never met a woman whose favors could not be bought but he did not travel in the same circles as Viscount Ashmead. “Why doesn’t the lady like you, then?”

“She likes me fine, as a friend. She doesn’t love me.”

“Gammon. Your kind is forever marrying for other considerations. You must have done something to give her a disgust of you. I thought you had better address than that, my friend.”

“Oh, and I suppose you could do much better? I’ve seen you with Molly and her ilk on your lap. That’s not courting, that’s rutting. Any other female comes into the room, and you go mumchance. Fine address you have.” He gestured to where Tally was once more shedding dog hairs on Leo’s fawn trousers. “I don’t see you with a wife at your side and a passel of children at your knee, now that you can provide for them, only a mongrel hound.”

“Well, you’ve been to London, you must know the proper way to court a lady.”

“Faugh, it’s all flowers and verse and morning calls. Ada wouldn’t give a hang for any of that tomfoolery.”

“You must have learned something about women at least, from your years on the Town, something to keep you from making micefeet of Miss Ada’s affections.”

“All I learned from the London Marriage Market was that I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the scrutiny of a man’s background and bankbook. As for the frantic bustle to be entertained, the artificial laughter, the closed spaces, you can have them. And the women ... Most of them are like trained parrots, repeating whatever a man says, while others are like crows, picking over bones of gossips. Then there are the jackdaws, collecting anything that sparkles. All of their feelings are false, fake, feigned. A man could not trust a one of them.”

“Nothing fake about Miss Ada.”

“No, Ada always says what she means.” He sighed, remembering their last argument. “One is never in doubt as to her feelings.”

“Unless the lady doesn’t know her own emotions, of course. Why don’t you just carry her off and have done with it? She’d ought to love you well enough by the time you reached Gretna.”

“What, kidnap Ada? You might think such a thing is romantic, but I consider it an insult to any lady.”

“How is a lady supposed to know if she can share passion with a bloke if they don’t even share kisses? I suppose such fine gentlefolks as you don’t...?”

“Of course not. Ada’s a lady, by George. Naturally there was last Christmas, under the mistletoe, and her birthday. And that bonfire at All Hallow’s.”

“Deuce take it, no wonder there are so few of you nobs. If you never kiss the gal, how is she supposed to know you love her?”

“I asked her to marry me, damn it. That ought to be enough.”

Leo was musing, leaning carefully against an upright beam. “Or maybe you don’t love her enough to try to convince her.”

Not love her enough? He’d stood on a blasted saddle, hadn’t he? “She doesn’t love me, and that’s the point.”

“No, you said she had too many other concerns. That’s why you thought the money might make her reconsider.”

She was never going to reconsider, was she? Chas did not want to hope. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just wanted to take care of her, if she won’t let me do it the right and proper way.”

Leo shook his head. “You’ve got the moon-sickness, Charlie. Even I can see you’ve got it bad.” He pressed the pouch on the viscount. “Give it to her, tell the girl what you did for her. Tell her you love her.”

Chas handed the sack of coins back. “No, it would never work. Ada’s got too many scruples. Besides, she hates my dog.”

Chapter Seven

Leo Tobin might not betray a comrade’s confidence, but he was not above meddling in a friend’s failed romance. Viscount Ashmead was almost as close as a brother to Leo, despite their different circumstances, and Leo felt duty-bound to help. Hadn’t his lordship given him the funds to buy a bigger ship, to carry enough merchandise to make longer voyages profitable, to hire experienced seamen? No bank would have done that, not with a leaky old boat as collateral. Then Charlie had thrown Leo this plum, working for the government on the sly, ferrying information and turncoat Frogs back and forth, letting slip what information the toffs in London wanted fed to the French. In return the government turned a blind eye to the rest of Tobin’s activities.

Leo was growing rich as a result, and he owed it all to his boyhood chum. He hated seeing Charlie so blue-deviled, besides black-and-blue. The least Leo could do was help get the viscount’s ducks in a row, if those ducks were at all willing to be herded by a wealthy, well-meaning wharf rat who knew nothing about dainty women. The little Westlake chit seemed perfect for the lad, a true lady who’d walk through hell for one she loved. Leo admired how she stood up for that soldier brother, and held the rest of her family together in his absence. Charlie deserved a woman like that, by Jupiter, and Leo aimed to see he got her.

Leo thought about locking Charlie and Miss Ada in the captain’s cabin of his ship, let them settle their differences like two strange cats, and not open the door till they had. Then he thought of having one of his contacts bring Lieutenant Sir Emery Westlake home, willy-nilly. Both plans were about as cork-brained as jumping out of apple trees though, if the chit loved someone else. That was the only reason Leo could see for any female in her right mind turning down his friend, no matter what excuse she gave.

There was nothing for it but for Leo to go in person to see which way the wind of Charlie’s destiny blew: a soft breeze to rock his ship, a sprightly gust to fill his sails, a hurricane to see him dashed on the rocks, or no wind at all, leaving poor Charlie with no hope whatsoever

Now Leo Tobin was a brave man. One had to be, in his profession. He’d rather run a loaded sloop between the French garrisons and the British blockade, though, than face a house full of highborn gentlewomen. His trepidation might have come from all the times he’d been given the cut direct by Lady Ashmead when she visited the village to drag Charlie away from Leo’s befouling friendship. He might also be sweating because, while he could dress like a gentleman and speak for the most part like a gentleman, he was nothing but the bastard son of a gentleman.

Still, Viscount Ashmead needed him, and Leo had never let a friend down yet. He rapped on the door of Westlake Hall, looking back to make sure his grays were safe in the hands of the oldest pair of grooms he’d ever seen. He’d swear one of the servants couldn’t see the horses, and the other one hadn’t heard his command to walk them.

After an uncomfortable interval, a bald old man in house slippers opened the door. “The ladies ain’t receiving,” the butler mumbled, shutting the door. “It’s past time for morning calls.”

Leo had commanded a crew of cutthroats and churls; he was not going to be denied by one relic of a retainer with bad feet and a bad attitude toward possible bill collectors. Tobin might look like one of the deceased Sir Rodney’s gaming partners, come to make good on the wastrel’s vowels, but he was not going to be left on the doorstep. He pushed the door—and the butler—aside. “I have come to see Miss Ada Westlake on a matter of business, to return something of value to her, and I am going to do so. Now. Understood?”

Leo followed the old man’s hobbling path down a dark hall to a closed door, which the butler opened without waiting to be given entry. “Some flash cove insists on seeing you, Miss Ada. Should I fetch the musket?”

Ada looked up from the novel she was reading. “Oh. Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.”

Relieved at the interruption, for in Jane’s mind any company was better than her sisters-in-law’s, Lady Westlake tossed aside the fringe she was trying to knot. The thing looked more like a cat toy than a lady’s reticule anyway. The gentleman whose broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway was infinitely more appealing. “I should say not.”