No Place for a Dame (10 page)

“You set me up to fail!” The words exploded from her. “You wanted me to be discovered. But I wasn’t. I won’t be.”

Her accusation produced an unexpected twinge of hurt. How odd. What did he care that she’d misconstrued the situation and misjudged him? She just as easily could have been right. It was just the sort of thing he might have done.

Except he hadn’t.

He lifted his hands from his side in a placating gesture. “You are mistaken. Hard though it is to imagine, I wasn’t entertaining the Demsforths for the pleasure of their company but rather to recommend you to them.”

“Why?” she snapped. “Were you thinking of offering me as your substitute suitor? I doubt Lady Lucille’s mama will approve.”

He arched a brow to keep from smiling. “What a piquant notion! I’m sure Lady Lucille would find you vastly preferable to me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered. “She would have to be an idiot. You’re…
you
.”

He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. Not at her notion of him, but that she had felt compelled to voice it. She was the most ingenuous, candid creature he knew. His smile widened as he realized the absurdity of such a notion, for here they were in the midst of perpetrating a whopping deception on the decent members of the Royal Astrological Society. If she was the most honest person he knew, he really must get to know a better class of people.

Except he didn’t want to.

She cocked her head, eyeing him darkly, and he realized she was awaiting his response.

For a second or two, he toyed with the idea of demurring but, confound it, it was rather fun playing into her concept of him. When was the last time he had thought of something as
fun
?

“I am, aren’t I?” he agreed pleasantly.

She gave a short snort of disgust.

“However, I was not alluding to my exceptional recommendations as a suitor, but to your scheme. You see, Avery, Lady Demsforth’s brother is Samuel Isbill.” He watched with gratification as her eyes grew round behind her glasses.

“
Sir
Samuel Isbill?” she whispered reverently.

“Yes. The president of your Star Club thingie, I believe.”

“Neville said his uncle liked stars but I never imagined he meant…” she murmured. “Good heavens.”

“Neville?”

“Yes. He’s invited me to go driving with him later this week.”

“He did, did he?” Giles didn’t know much about the lad. A large, innocuous-seeming boy newly up from Cambridge. Second son of the very wealthy Earl of Demsforth.

“Yes.” Avery pulled a face. “He thinks I stand in need of a… less sophisticated, shall we say, companion than you.”

The impertinence of the pup
. Yet, one could not fault his discernment. “Well, high points for the lad’s acumen. And by all means, should you meet him again, be pleasant. He might prove useful.”

She frowned at this. “Do you judge everyone’s value by their usefulness?”

He forgot how little she knew of him. “In terms of your goal, yes.”

He watched her mull this over, discontent pleating her brow. She was not meant for intrigues. “What of Lord Vedder?” she finally asked. “Why was he here? Don’t tell me he’s a member of the Royal Astrological Society?”

“No. The only society Vedder is interested in is the ton and the only interests he pursues are his own. For some reason, he attached himself to the Demsforths today.”

“I don’t like him and I am glad you don’t like him.”

“Did I say that?” he asked mildly.

“You didn’t have to.” Apparently he was back in her good graces.

“As for driving with Lord Neville, I will ask you to remember your promise to me not to leave the house. It offers too many opportunities for discovery.”

“Must I really remain inside for weeks?” she asked in a small, dismayed voice.

“Of course not. I expect I shall have to show you off a few times and there’s a lending library and a coffee house the next square over that you can visit. But take Travers with you. I doubt you’ll excite much curiosity at either place. But riding out with young Demsforth? No.”

“As you will,” she said. “I shall send word saying I am committed to my studies.” She sighed and he wondered if she had been looking forward to riding with young Neville. “What do we do next?”

He tugged the bellpull. “
You
are shown to your rooms where you shall unpack. I shall have Travers bring dinner to your room in, shall we say, three hours? If you don’t mind, I’ll join you so that we can discuss strategy without interruption.” And in the meantime he would do what he could to flush up some information about Jack. He’d been in town four days with nothing to show for all his ferreting about.

“Of course,” she said eagerly, then paused. “Where
is
Travers?”

“Lurking in the servants quarters, doubtless, waiting for someone to scream, ‘That’s a woman!’ ”

“I cannot believe he has such little faith.” She sniffed derisively.

“I can’t claim to have had any more confidence,” he said. “And I did allow you to walk into the lion’s den, so to speak, not only because it provided an opportunity to introduce you to Lady Demsforth but also because I knew that you were most likely to fail during your first moments under scrutiny and if you did I could try to pass the whole charade off as part of a silly wager.”

“Good heavens.” She looked more disquieted than angered. “Are you always so Machiavellian?”

Machiavellian
? Well, he supposed he was. Treacherous, double-dealing, devious, designing, they’d all once applied. Perhaps they still did. Because, when war translated you into someone, some
thing
else, could you ever return to a semblance of the man you once were? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

The door open and Burke entered. “M’lord?”

“Burke,” Giles said, “please show Mr. Quinn to his rooms then return to me.”

“Yes, sir.” The young Adonis turned to Avery. “If you’ll follow me, sir?”

But Avery was still studying Giles with an odd, contemplative air, as if she’d seen something unexpected in the night sky and was reassessing an earlier hypothesis. He strongly suspected he’d been downgraded from comet to flotsam. He did not much like it.

“Run along, Avery. And in answer to your question, yes, I am,” he said. And wished he lied.

“Relax, Burke,” Giles said to the strapping young footman standing at attention. “This isn’t the Inquisition.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Burke had been one of Jack Seward’s men. Four years earlier, Jack had found the illiterate cockney lad running a rigged game of dice on the docks. Burke had attracted Jack’s attention not because he wanted to save the lad from a potentially dangerous occupation, but because the boy had been so good at it. Jack had taken the boy, taught him to read, write, and speak, and how to be a footman. Then he’d inserted him where he would prove most useful.

Upon his return to London, Giles had sought out Burke to see if he knew anything about Jack’s fate. He hadn’t, but he’d been as keen to discover what had happened to Jack as Giles was. He was a very loyal young man. And so Giles had offered him a position, both as a footman and in his old capacity.

“Before you tell me what you’ve learned regarding Colonel Seward, I have a task for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Quinn is unused to a household such as this. He is a very private young man. Make sure the staff does not enter his room without first knocking. And I should not be surprised if he locks the door on you.”

Strand had vacillated over whether or not to include Burke in his
confidence and had finally decided against it. He did not doubt Burke’s discretion, but he did not know him well enough to trust his acting ability.

If Burke knew Avery was a woman he might inadvertently react to her in such a way as to invite comment amongst the staff. It was hard enough for Giles himself to remember she was supposed to be a man. From there it was a short step to discovery and, as had been so recently illustrated to him at Killylea, the servants’ network was a potent source of information. No, the fewer who knew, the better.

“He’s very different from your usual friends,” Burke said carefully. It was as close as he was likely to allow himself to asking a question.

“Yes,” Giles agree. “Well, we must allow ourselves a few eccentricities.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Now, what have you learned?”

The young man’s face mirrored his distress. “Nothing useful. Can’t rightly make up to Sir Jameson’s staff as he doesn’t have much of one. Just his housekeeper, and if she knows where her arse is without looking, I’d be surprised—pardon, sir—and a deaf scullery maid and his valet. No cook. No other maids. No footmen. And he don’t keep a carriage.”

“What of the valet?”

“Finical, egg-peeling bloke. Don’t have no, er,
any
vices nor habits nor pleasures. I think he considers polishing his gentleman’s boots a high lark.” Burke’s face twisted in disgust. “I’ve managed to encounter him a few times, but seeing how housebound he is, to chance upon me any time soon is bound to wake his suspicions. Besides, he didn’t want to trade words with me.”

“So, he’s loyal to Jameson?”

Burke shrugged. “Loyal or afraid. Hard to say. I’m sorry, sir.”

Giles waved away the apology. “It was a long shot at best. Jameson is hardly likely to have brought Jack or Anne to his house, either alive or dead. We shall just have to search elsewhere.”

“But where, sir? I’ve kept my ear tuned to the servants’ chatter and haven’t heard mention of Colonel Seward or his lady.”

“Then we shall have to broaden our scope beyond the ton. If something nefarious was done, I’ll have to go where nefarious acts are for sale.”

Burke nodded then glanced sharply at Giles. “You, sir?”

“Yes, Burke. You needn’t look so alarmed. I assure you, I am quite capable of making inquiries without getting killed.” The footman’s
incredulity might have offended another man, but not Strand. It rather amused him. Burke had not known him when he’d worked for Knowlton.

“Beggin’ pardon, sir, but are you sure?” Burke asked.

“Oh, yes.” He smiled, though he doubted it reached his eyes. “Quite sure.”

Chapter Ten

G
iles had shaken off introspection by the time he knocked on Avery’s door. Travers answered.

“Ah-ha! Now that the crisis has passed you appear, you bounder,” Giles said amicably. Travers managed to look offended without moving a single muscle in his face.

“Don’t tease him.” Avery waved her fork commandingly at him from her seat at a small table set before a crackling hearth fire. Various dishes of cold meats, cheese, bread, and vegetables cluttered its top. “He had gone down to the inn specifically to find me so I wouldn’t have to meet your guests unforewarned. Unfortunately, he thought I was to disembark at three o’clock, not two.”

“So he says.”

“Milord, I must protest,” Travers said. “I would never purposefully compromise Miss Quinn’s mission.”

“Oh, it’s a mission now, eh?” Giles pulled out the chair across from Avery. She’d returned her attention to the cold joint and boiled potatoes on her plate. He snapped open the spare napkin and settled it across his lap, regarding her obliquely.

She looked very different from the egg-shaped youth who’d entered the drawing room. She’d scrubbed her face and though her dark brows still angled in rather fierce winged arcs above her dark eyes, they no longer bristled, meeting in the middle like furry caterpillars butting heads. She’d also shed Mrs. Bedling’s attempt at making a gentleman’s coat and was swathed in what he recognized as one of his own silk damask dressing robes. The rich blue hue acted as a foil to her auburn hair but the sleeves were far too long, forcing her to roll them up over slender forearms. He made a mental note that she was never to roll up her sleeves. Her arms were as smooth and graceful as a sylph’s.

“Am I mistaken or does the banyan you’re wearing look familiar?”

“I begged Mr. Travers to find me something to wear.”

“You must call him Travers now. He’s supposed to be your valet and you, a gentleman. And I hope Mrs. Bedling was able to manufacture more than just the clothing you arrived in.”