Raven's Ransom (11 page)

He smiled to himself as he nimbly took the carpeted stairs up to the main hall. Raven, at least, could be relied upon to give the masquerading jackanapes a regular boot in the rear end. Even with his gout, the earl would doubtless be up to such an exertion. Maybe he would even hand the conceited young rascal over to the law. Either way, the excitement would doubtless do his noble employer a power of good.

In this he was correct, for Lord Raven was in high fidgets, waiting to be dressed and shaved and pacing about above stairs in a fit of the morning dismals.

When Richmond apprised him of the criminal awaiting his pleasure in the kitchens, his eyes assumed an interested gleam, but there was something in him that was vaguely disappointed, though he could not fathom it himself.

“Trussed up, is he?”

“No, sir. As meek as milk and being fed up like a prize pigeon.” The disgust was evident in Richmond’s tone.

“Mmm ... now why would that be, I wonder?”

“Fellow seems to
want
to see you. Had the temerity to order me to awaken you!”

“And you instantly obeyed his directive.”

“I?” Richmond puffed himself out indignantly. “I should say
not,
my lord!”

“Then why are you bandying the tale about at this ungodly hour?” The earl’s eyes, for once, twinkled. Richmond said nothing, but gave a disapproving sniff.

“Speechless, are you? An excellent thing. It shall stand to this varmint’s credit.
What
did you say his name was?”

“I didn’t. And you cannot mean to see him! He is an intruder and a cutpurse. By the looks of him he would not stop at highway robbery either!”

“Yet you are all alive in my kitchens, I infer.”

“Oh, alive, yes! The fellow could charm the hide off a donkey, I don’t wonder.”

“Then let him try it with me. I believe my hide to be suitably thick.”

“He threatened to cut his way out of here with his sword.”

“Did he, by God!” The earl’s eyes gleamed appreciatively. “Now that is more like it! Tie him up and tell him he may try it.”

“Me,
my lord?”

“Of course you, or shall I do it myself?”

Richmond wavered. There were times he worried for the sanity of his noble employer.

“Chicken-hearted, are you?”

“My lord!”

“Oh, stop my lording me. Fetch me my stick. I shall see him in the kitchens myself. Doubtless there is some of that plum tart lurking about somewhere. I shall fetch myself a piece.”

This startling proposition at once confirmed Richmond’s sudden alarm. My lord
was
mad.

“The kitchens are four flights of stairs, my lord, and the tart is laced with rum.”

“I know it is, you blockhead. That is why I retain Mrs. Bartlett on such an excellent salary. And as for four flights, do you think I don’t know the disposition of my own home? I believe it is four flights and one small stairway off the landing besides. There, you see, I am in the right of it. I’m not in my dotage, yet. Now move out of my way.”

“No!”

“No?” My lord’s tone was cold.

“I shall fetch the scurvy knave up to you, rather.”

“Hah! Too late, Richmond, I’m of a mind to shake the cobwebs out of this old white head. Now fetch me my stick, will you, before I collect it myself and break it over your back!”

This threat did not move his valet in the least. Collecting all his dignity, he shook out the coverlets and remarked that the weather looked to be pleasant, all things considered. Whereupon the earl glared at him and grabbed at his stick, muttering that it would serve Richmond right if he one day
were
to beat the living daylights out of his disobedient person.

Whereupon Richmond eyed him calmly and remarked that he was duly terrified, but that if the earl was
bent
on killing himself by going below stairs, he might just as well do it shaved.

Lord Raven grumbled a little about interfering, do-gooding jackanapeses, but allowed himself to be steered toward the great, gilded mirror, beneath which Richmond had prepared the blades and his soaps and the chafing dish of warm water and hibiscus soap. Then he was settled, with some comfort, into a buttoned leather wing chair, still muttering oaths and issuing commands for the confinement of their interesting—and rather dashing—prisoner.

He had not long to mutter, for the prisoner himself had grown fed up with the waiting. Demanding of the second housemaid—sword drawn most fearsomely, as she was later to relate—the direction of my lord’s private suites, he lost no time in grappling with the house’s geography and locating the necessary interior. He would, quite probably have knocked, but the door was still ajar from Richmond’s indignant entrance and the old man’s reflection was visible for all to see in the seventeenth century looking glass at opposite ends of the paneled wall from where he sat.

“Beware, Lord Raven, lest your man’s blade is as sharp as mine!”

The valet whirled round in consternation, but the cutthroat did not make any sinister advances into the room. Rather, he adopted a merry—and annoyingly arrogant—stance as he lingered, cape and all, in the door frame.

Richmond seethed. “Hear you, my lord, the villain threatens you in your own home!”

For an instant, there was a pause. Lord Raven swallowed a faint glimmer of recognition. Though he scowled fiercely, the manner in which he folded his arms held a certain smug satisfaction. Fortunately, this was hidden to both Richmond and the young, lithe man who eyed him a trifle curiously.

“Hold your tongue, Richmond.
That
is no threat. It would be a thousandfold more devilish if he wished your blade to be as
blunt
as his. Good God, if you were to shave me with a razor as lamentably unsharpened as
that
one, I daresay you would do me
untold
damage. Just look at the thing. It is a disgrace.”

“I see your eyesight is as good as ever, Raven.”

“And you are as impertinent as always, my intriguing pup. Now put down that sword. It is a hazard.”

“Never say it. You were used to be fearless.”

“And still am. I was referring to its gilded glare. The thing is so gaudy it would
blind
a man before it smote him.”

For an instant, a glimmer of amusement crossed Armand’s face.

“There have been times I have thought so myself. But come, sir, you bandy words.”

“And you play with your health. Set the thing down and have a care for your elegant—if decidedly ill-clad—back. The stupid thing weighs a ton, if I recall.”

“Oh, I am sure you do. Vividly.”

There was a meaning behind the tone Richmond could not quite fathom.

The Earl of Raven’s eyes became hooded.

“That was all a long time since. I was young and feckless then. And yes, upon reflection, steel
would
have been a better choice. I am glad I had it not, though, for your father would surely have come off the worst.”

Armand raised his brows a trifle enigmatically. He let the comment pass, however, and fingered one of the jewels encrusted in the unsheathed sword.

“Instead of which, you neatly pinked him and presented him with the back of your golden blade.”

“Whimsy, my boy, sheer whimsy.”

The earl yawned.

“But come! I grow fatigued with this conversation. My youthful indiscretions are so far in the past as to be wearisome.”

“Then forgive me for boring you. But you must allow, my lord, that I have some provocation. But for Mrs. Bartlett’s pigeon pie, it has been a tedious night.”

“Has it? That is not what
I
believe.”

“And what do
you
believe, my good lord?”

“I believe that being caught like a veritable sneak thief in the night must have held excitements of its own.”

“Ergo, the night was not tedious. I concede you the point, Raven.”

The twinkle reappeared in Armand’s deep, honey hazel eyes. For an instant, they were reflected in the older man’s avid gaze. He shook his head, however, and frowned.

“You deliberately misunderstand me, Valmont. There were
other
excitements, were there not?”

“Indeed.”

“Ha! So we come to the very heart of it. Which one of my rapscallion granddaughters is pleased to captivate your attention?”

“They are
all
captivating, my lord.”

“You deny a preference?”

“I do not.”

“Then speak, before I lose patience with you and call in the watch.”

“At sunset, sir, I elope with Daisy.”

“Moonshine! Daisy would never be so undutiful!”

“Care to place a wager?”

The viscount smiled sweetly and the earl signaled to Richmond to continue lathering his chin. There was a long silence as the valet, used to Raven’s unpredictable ways, took up the razor and began his careful work. When it was done, the earl surveyed the viscount with grim amusement.

“Done!”

“I shall call on you in the morning, sir.”

“With your bride?” The earl sounded disbelieving. Armand’s eyes glittered. He nodded and ignored Richmond’s choking protests.

“With my bride.” His tone was firm.

“Hah!
An elopement is never such if it has a guardian’s permission.
Then
it becomes merely a swift termination to a speedy betrothal. I therefore grant you my good wishes and full consent, you impertinent young pup.”

For once, Lord Valmont was speechless. He set down the sword—which indeed
did
look rather ludicrous in his elegant hand—and took a step closer toward his father’s sworn enemy.

“Are you serious?”

“Never more. Daisy was ever a featherheaded chit with no notion of what was good for her! She has the pick of London’s beaus and here she chooses a fanciful fribble like you! Still, you are not, I trust, a dullard, and notwithstanding your father’s blood—which I must needs abhor—you shall make a tolerable spouse if all I hear about this godforsaken town is true.”

Lord Valmont’s features relaxed into a slow smile. “The rumors are veracious, then. The lion that roars with fury is no fiercer, in his own home, than a pussycat. Daisy warned me.”

Lord Raven bridled with rage at this most dire of insults.

“Nonsense! Do you think it is
altruism
that spurs me? Pah! A thousand times, pah! No, my dear fellow, far from it. I consent to this nonsense merely because in so doing, I win my wager. You shall
not
elope at sunset, for you marry with my knowledge and prior approval. Thus, my dear man, technically speaking, you are not eloping. So sad, but you lose your wager and stand indebted.”

The noble Lord Valmont bent his knee in humility. Though the eagle-eyed Raven thought he was flippant, the sincerity of his words were hard to misconstrue.

“So be it, then, Raven. For the gift of Daisy I shall consider myself
ever
in your debt. Take your sword back. It has come full circle and served a certain purpose. My father, who is nothing if not appreciative of irony, shall doubtless smile if he ever comes to hear of the matter.”

“Which I trust he shall not.”

Armand shrugged. Then, whilst Raven was still wrestling with his golden gift—it had been thrust unceremoniously into his lap and lather was dripping down onto the rubies—Armand quixotically took his leave.

He was too pleased with his morning’s endeavor to notice the open door to the morning room, where Lily, the picture of innocence, sat upon a rocking chair delicately embroidered in shades of pale pinks and greens.

There was a slight flush upon her perfect cheeks, but apart from this, there was nothing to show she was thinking quite sinful thoughts, cross as crabs that she had not managed to eavesdrop on the earl’s conversation with Denver, Lord Barrymore.

She had fared rather better with
Daisy,
unashamedly catching little wisps of her conversation with the cutpurse highwayman, who had so obligingly chosen
her
window to attract Daisy’s attention. Oh, how romantic it was! How
lucky
Daisy was to have found such true love! She would not care two pins for the fact that her young man was not a gentleman save, of course, for the cost of her gowns. Still, Daisy did not, in the general way, care a toss for such matters, so Lily waved the point away airily.

Besides, there was always Grandfather. He might be a regular old tartar, but beneath the baleful eyes and scraggy brows lay a kind heart, though he would have a fit if she accused him of it. He would never let Daisy starve and she could, after all, have all her castoffs. Especially the ones with the silver trim, they were so flattering to her guinea gold locks. Then there was always the Raven’s ransom....

Daisy thus satisfactorily disposed of, Lily allowed her thoughts to wander once more to a certain Lord Barrymore. Oh, he was so elegant! She did not think she had ever before seen anyone with such perfectly molded shirt points, or such impeccably tied cravats. As for his coats, so tight across his chest, nipped so skillfully at the slender waist, oh ... she was certain he did not use padding for his shoulders or well-muscled thighs!

She giggled a little, for she had gleaned her certainty during the waltz, where she had touched those hard, velvet-hosed thighs several times during the rather fast dance’s execution. Oh,
quite
accidentally, of course! She wondered whether Barrymore had noticed, and smiled secretly. She thought he had. Why, oh why would he not offer for her? Half of London was doing so, thanks to Grandfather’s crazy scheme. But she was not interested in half of London! She was interested only in a silly man, too handsome for his own particular good, who was too proud to kiss her as undoubtedly he should!

Indignation welled up in Lily. She was the dearest creature, but rather spoiled, since she was the baby of the family and undoubtedly the most breathtaking of the Chartley girls. Consequently, it was rather hard for her to be patient and she was just devising cunning schemes to force a certain Lord Denver Barrymore to come to his senses and whisk her away in the most romantic of fashions, when her reverie was disturbed by the upper housemaid.

“Oh, Miss Lily! You are to dress at once! Lord Raven wishes to see you immediately!”

“Now? Before breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am! And in a rare taking he is! Laughing ’is ’ead off and poor Richmond at sixes an’ sevens wiv ’im an’ all!”

Lily’s eyes twinkled as she allowed her hair to be brushed vigorously, so that it shone in the early sunlight and cascaded abundantly over her shoulders and down the length of her back. Annie the maid marveled, as she always did, at the beautiful sight. She was learning to be a dresser and Lily, always tenderhearted, had offered herself as practice. Her
real
dresser, a rather stiff-rumped sort of person, had taken immediate affront, but Lily was not to be shaken. Thus it was that on all days where there was not some event requiring the rather more expert services of Grantley, Annie was permitted to play with the shining black tresses and choose from the wardrobes of modish dresses and bonnets and ribbons and gloves and half boots and hats. Sometimes, Lily would chuckle at her choice and gaily reselect, but most times, little Annie’s taste was exactly in synchrony with her own. Now she chose a saffron gown trimmed with gay green ribbons that exactly matched her eyes and pale kid gloves with Grecian sandals strapped merrily to her perfectly wellturned ankles. Lily looked so young and innocent when she entered the earl’s room, that he smiled a little, before reverting to his usual lordly glare.

“Good morning, Grandfather!”

“Don’t good morning me, madame! The sun is too bright and my chilblains hurt fiercely. Come a little closer. I can’t expect to hold a decent conversation when I am bellowing across a room.”

Lily stepped closer gingerly. Her sarcenet gown was not more than a week old, and she was loath to have lemonade or cordial or that vile concoction that Grandfather swallowed cast upon her person. This had happened before, of course, so she stepped forward warily.

“Now, Grandfather, you are not to plague me! I can see in your eyes you are about to read me a lecture and I would rather, if you please, kiss your forehead and read to you instead.”

Lord Raven grunted. Lily, ever hopeful, took this for assent, kissed him saucily, and weaved her way to the bookshelf. “What musty old books! You must have some of mine! I am certain you shall like Sir Horace Walpole, for he writes quite thrillingly and there are not quite so many volumes as there are in
some
of my novels! Shall I fetch it?”

The Earl of Raven wheezed a little, and gestured to her with a bony hand.

Reluctantly, Lily drew closer. “I suppose you are determined?”

The earl chuckled. “But naturally. And what do
you
think I shall be scolding you about?”

“That is not fair!” Lily sounded indignant. “If I guess, I may be mistaken and then I shall be scolded for something you knew nothing about!”

The earl again hid his amusement. He adored characters with spunk and little Lily, though decidedly naughty and more than a little vain, was exactly to his liking.

“You shall have to risk it, my dear.”

“Just remember, I am too old to spank!”

He looked fierce. “Really? I shall have to consult Primrose about that.
She
will know.”

“Grandfather, you are teasing me! You
know
I haven’t been spanked for an age!”

“Mmm, more’s the pity. I had the latest bills from Madame Endicott’s.”

“The milliner? Oh, Grandfather, were they frightful? I always lose track about such things. She is so horridly persuasive and I always seem to come home with heaps of vile confections that I wouldn’t even pass on to
Annie!
I really am dreadfully sorry. You can take the amount out of my next quarter.”

“Be sure I shall, you minx! Now come here, I have something important to discuss with you.”

“Are they marriage proposals?” Lily sounded suddenly hopeful.

“Indeed they are. Lord Wainsborough offered yesterday, and Sir Archibald Trafford, too. No, I mistake. That was for Primrose. Or was it Daisy? I shall have to check.” He clicked his hands for a list and Richmond, hovering close by, obliged. My lord searched about for his spectacles. Then, with a quivering hand, he applied them to his ears and squinted at the page. “Ah, yes. Suitors for Lily. Ten, I believe, not counting Waring, who is entirely ineligible and Barrymore, of course.”

“Barrymore?” Lily jumped up and snatched the paper from his lordship’s hand.

“Tut-tut, young lady! You are not to grab. Very uncivil of you, I am sure!”

Lily did not hear. Her eyes scanned the paper eagerly. “But, Grandfather, you have not written the viscount down anywhere!”

“He is not suitable. Now Mollington ...”

“Mollington is a great baby, Grandfather!”

“Well, then, Wainsborough....”

“... cares only about restoring his coffers. If Primmy or Daisy get your wretched bequest, he would likely have an apoplexy and die on the spot”

“How convenient.”

Lily grinned. “Yes, very, but I should prefer to not have the bother. What if
I
got your wretched ransom? I should be saddled with him for life!”

“You would be a countess.”

“Tsha! A pox on countesses!”

The earl smothered a laugh and coughed convincingly instead. Barrymore, as he had suspected, would be perfect for Lily, but it would be over his dead body that he admitted it. Lily was such a troublesome creature, if she caught a whiff of approval, she would turn tail and run a mile.

“I will thank you to remember that your dear
grandmama
was a countess, young lady!”

“Well, one in the family is sufficient, then! Besides, let
Primrose
be a countess! I am sure she will be perfect for the part.”

“Mmm ... excellent advice. Might I ask if you had anyone in
particular
in mind?”

Lily blushed, though she was glad to have turned the earl’s wrath from herself. “Nooo ... and Primrose would eat Wainsborough for breakfast! I shall ponder the matter and report back to you directly.”

“How thoughtful.” Raven’s sardonic tone was quite lost on Lily, who nodded her head gravely and set her mind at
once
to the weighty matter of Primrose’s suitors. She was chagrined, therefore, to find that Raven had not lost the thread of their former discussion. His next sentence made her heart sink into her pretty little sandals.

“. . . In the meanwhile, you might consider the list. The only man I forbid is Barrymore, for he is a gambler and a rake.”

Lily’s eyes flashed, her chin tilted stubbornly and her beautiful gloves reached an indignant waist.

“How unfair, Grandfather, when you might
just
as well be describing yourself!”

“Impudent! I am handsomer than he!”

Lily giggled, in spite of her annoyance. No one—how—ever fond they might be——could describe the Earl of Raven as “handsome.” His brows were too bushy, his complexion too sallow, and age and ill usage had taken their toll upon his rather scraggy features. Lord Barrymore, on the other hand, was the very pink of health, with the liveliest of eyes and a dreamy curve to his lips that made them quite enchanting to most young ladies and one in particular.

“Giggle all you like, little madame! I tell you, in my day I was a veritable Adonis! Ask Richmond, if he can cast his mind that far back. But we wander from the point. I forbid you to marry Barrymore.”

“That is unfair!”

“He
is only after the Raven’s Ransom.”

“And whose fault is that? You know perfectly well you have dangled it as a carrot in front of every suitor we have ever had. Well, I tell you, Grandfather, I don’t care the snap of a finger for your silly ransom!”

“And Barrymore? I’ll double your allowance if he can say the same.”

Lily looked disdainful. “I won’t gamble when the odds are heaped against me. Of
course
he cares about the money! He would be an addlepate if he did not!
All
my suitors care about the money, though it is only my
eyes
that they write sonnets about! They are passing pretty, I believe.” Lily could not help that comment as she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass. In truth, her sea green eyes
were
truly magnificent, encased as they were by fronds of deep, dark lashes.

“Baggage! I believe I shall buy you a looking glass for a wedding gift.”

“Then I may marry Barrymore?” Lily’s voice was surprisingly eager. The earl nearly relented, then considered he would be needlessly depriving himself of a great deal of fun. The little chit would doubtless dream up
something
outrageous to keep him entertained if he forbade her her way. The Chartley sisters were spirited things, if nothing else. He had no doubt, however, that in the end, all of them would marry well. If Lily became the Viscountess Barrymore, he would not complain. Or he would, of course, but purely as a matter of form.

Now that he had suitably provided an income for the viscount—and one that he had no doubt would bear fruit, for Lord Barrymore was more acute than many gave him credit for—there was certainly no rhyme or reason why his dearest little granddaughter should not become his bride. There was no reason to tell
her
that, though. He beetled his brow menacingly and glared in what he hoped was a suitably fierce manner.

“Certainly not! You may review my list and decide from there. If you have not made your decision in three days, I shall wrest the matter from your hands and decide for you.”

Lily squealed. “Grandfather! You
cannot
be so curmudgeonly!”

“Can I not?”

“No!” But Lily knew Lord Raven could. He was notorious for his sharp tongue, malicious temper, and stubborn turn of thought. That he had always been singularly kind to his orphaned grandchildren did not weigh with her in the least. Kind he may have been, but quarrelsome, too! She tilted her chin in a manner he secretly adored, and glared at him stare for stare.

“Grandfather, if you persist in your stubbornness, I shall not answer for the consequences.”

Lord Raven inclined his head regally, though his stomach hurt with the effort to force down a spate of rumbling laughter.

He nodded regally, and waved her away with a great sweep of his bony fingers.

“Just remember, Miss Lily, you are never quite too old to be taken over my knee. I may be in my dotage, but I believe I am still
quite
capable of making a derriere smart.”

“Oh!” Speechless, the youngest Miss Chartley turned on her heels and fled.

It was perhaps an hour later that her indignation had subsided enough to locate an inkpot in the jumble on her chamber desk and pen a rather daring—and hasty—note to Denver, Lord Barrymore. It was underscored several times and was
precisely
the type of letter that would have incurred the rather rigorous punishment outlined by the earl earlier.

Nevertheless, Lily was nothing, if not brave, and decided that since her life would be worthless without at least making a
push
to engage Lord Barrymore’s fabulous attentions, the risk was minimal next to the gain.