Reluctant Bride (17 page)

“I am not fit for much,” Maisie said.

“There is not much an unaccompanied lady can do by herself,” Glandower pointed out. “Will you accept my escort, Lizzie? I will be happy to show you around the town.”

“I’m sure you have more interesting things to do than squire me,” I told him, attempting a coquettish smile.

“Not at all. I would be happy to be your escort.”

“All right then, but I think I should go to Bow Street first, and report my stolen goods,” I said, to watch him squirm.

“Let me do it for you,” he volunteered with suspicious alacrity. “It is unpleasant work for a lady. I have all the details, and know precisely what the necklace looks like, so there is no problem in it.”

“Oh, would you?” I asked, batting my lashes furiously. Indeed he would! He was all manly protection and concern. As soon as he had done so, he would call for me and take me for a drive. The next question sent me stuttering.

“What hotel are you staying at?” he asked.

“Hotel?” I asked blankly.

Maisie saved the day. “The Clarendon,” she answered quickly.

“Excellent. I shall pick you up there in, say, an hour?”

“Make it an hour and a half,” I said. “Where shall we go?” Edmund, of course, had to know this.

“Where would you like to go? It is a fine day for a drive.”

The streets of the city offered little scope for Edmund to meet my escort. “Richmond Hill?” I suggested hesitantly.

“That is fine with me. I haven’t been there in an age.”

We had a glass of wine, and then our carriage was called. “I blush to tell Edmund he must hire us yet another room at a hotel,” I said, as we hastened back to Belgrave Square. “I have lost track of how much I owe him.”

“I don’t believe he’s counting,” she responded, with a sly smile.

“You
are an excellent cipherer, Auntie. You keep tabs for me.”

“Do I include the various rings he has given you?” she asked.

“Oh, no, they were his own idea. Besides, they are only on loan.”

“You know, Liz, even if we get the necklace back, we will still be in the basket, with Weston not anxious to buy it at this time.”

“I wonder if Edmund would be interested to purchase it,” I said. It was only a passing thought, spoken aloud, but it brought her wrath down on my head.

Edmund had luncheon awaiting when we returned home. “How did it go? Did you hook him?” he asked eagerly.

“It was like stealing candy from a baby.”

“Or diamonds from Miss Braden,” he threw in, quite unnecessarily. “Where is the rendezvous to be?”

“He is taking me to Richmond Hill,” I said, then sat wording my next speech more carefully. “Of course, I could not ask him to pick me up here. I could not mention your name.”

“Where are you meeting him?” he asked.

“At the Clarendon Hotel. I told him we are putting up there. I hope it is not terribly expensive to hire a room for a day?”

His dispirited sigh told me I was out in my hope. “The Pulteney is more expensive. How does it come you did not tell him the
most
expensive place in town?”

“I didn’t know which one that was.”

I received one of his hawk-like glares. “I’ll take you over to the Clarendon after lunch. Maisie accompanies you?”

“To the hotel, not on the drive. We are leaving very soon. We had better eat.”

There was little eaten by anyone save our host. His cook had been serving raw meat for too long. Even an order to have it well-done resulted in no more than a quick flash of our steak over a flame. I was too excited to enjoy food in any case. There was a delicious excitement in the charade that lay before us. I do not often leave Westgate, or want to, but I knew I would find its pleasures dull after this eventful interlude.

We made a hasty meal, with Edmund’s watch propped beside his cup for constant timing; an even hastier dash to the Clarendon, to get installed in a chamber about twenty minutes before Glandower tapped at the door. “Why must you always
hurry
so?” I asked him.

“We wouldn’t want to be
late!”
was the only answer he had.

He was still in the room when Glandower’s knock came at the door. He jumped into the clothespress to hide. Fortunately it held no clothing.

“What time will you be back?” Maisie asked before we left. She would want to know how long she must sit in tedious quiet in the room, or perhaps she planned to return to Belgrave Square and wished to know at what time she must be back on the job.

“Before dark,” Glandower answered vaguely.

“Earlier than that, Auntie. By six,” I clarified, so she could make her plans accordingly.

Cummings had a dashing sporting curricle with a mischievous team of grays harnessed up to it. He made some effort to be entertaining as we drove at a smart clip to Richmond Hill. He referred voluntarily to the matter of the stolen necklace.

“I took time to dash to a few spots I know that buy used jewelry before I picked you up,” he told me. “One of them thinks he might have a line on the goods. I plan to go back to him tomorrow morning. If he has the necklace, I’ll call in Bow Street, and let you know, of course.”

“You haven’t been to Bow Street yet then?” I asked. I was surprised, not that he had not been, but that he admitted it.

“I was halfway there, and then thought it might be faster to try my hand at a few shops I know. We can go to Bow Street now, if you like.”

I was beginning to have second thoughts about Glandower. It occurred to me he might have decided to turn honest, as the cards were not in his favor. Was it possible he meant to “discover” my necklace at a shop, and get it returned to me? I realized then that this was my hope. It was wretched of him to have stolen it, but Weston was building his life around the scoundrel, and I could not like to hurt an old man. I spoke a few harsh words of the reprisals awaiting anyone who ventured on a life of crime.

“Such villains deserve the worst treatment. Whipping is too good for them,” he seconded me, with every appearance of sincerity.

This morose pall lightened as we approached Richmond Hill. One would have to be an ascetic not to adore the spot, so charming with its gardens, water, and pavilions. We stopped halfway up the hill to view the Terrace Gardens, very pretty in the summer sunlight, though Glandower thought the flowers would be more profuse in the spring. After an examination of the Gardens and the mansions around us, we proceeded to the top of the hill. Cummings was not impressed by the Star and Garter Hotel, which alone was worth the trip in my estimation. It resembled some stately French chateau, and had a fancy Italian terraced garden too.

I had not realized Richmond Park was such a large affair, much too enormous to be likely to bump into Edmund, with no fixed meeting place designated. There were thousands upon thousands of acres of water, parks, gardens, buildings, even a forest.

“What do people usually go to see when they come here?” I asked, hoping to hear of some popular meeting spot, such as the barrier at Hyde Park.

“Some of them take a boat out, some of them tour the Gardens, usually everyone ends up here, at the Star and Garter, sooner or later.”

In the normal way, I would have expected Edmund sooner, but as he was obliged to leave after us, he would not be here before us. “Let us roam around for a while, then come back later for a drink,” I suggested.

We strolled through the park to admire the rolling hills, the groves of oaks, the fern. The view from Broomfield Hill, also some of the other hills, was magnificent. Glandower told me that in the distance you could see as far as Surrey, Dorking Gap. It was not necessary for him to tell me it was also an extremely fatiguing pastime, climbing hills, for he had stabled his carriage at the hotel. After an hour of sightseeing, we had not begun to cover the area, but were ready for something to quench our thirst.

As we walked and roamed, I found myself making the quite dreadful mistake of getting to know Glandower better than I had before, and liking him. He was truly trying to entertain me; he was sensitive to beauty, informed of the history of the place we visited. He seemed strangely wistful, which I interpreted as remorse of his guilty conscience.

“It is beautiful. What a good time you must have, Glandower, living in London, with freedom and access to all these spots.”

“You tire of it after a while,” he said.

“I suppose one does. Why do you not find something useful to do then? Make a career for yourself, if you are becoming bored.”

“I would like to. I am seeking work at Whitehall, but it does not pay well, you know, and besides I don’t expect I will be much good at it.”

“Surely Uncle gives you an allowance.”

“Yes, oh, yes! He is very generous, but . . .”

But he gambled it away. My pity lessened. “Your expenses as a bachelor cannot be great.”

“No, the thing is . . .” He stopped, becoming shy.

“What is it?” I prodded gently.

“The thing is, cousin, I would like
not
to be a bachelor. There is a girl I would like to marry. Miss Millington, from back home, but how could I support her?”

“Why do you not take her to Rusholme?”

“Rusholme?” he asked, startled. “I couldn’t do that. Mr. Braden is only my stepfather. Since mama’s death, I don’t spend much time there. Duty visits only, to keep in touch. No, it would be presumptuous of me to land a wife in on him.”

“He would
love
it!”

“No, really! I am not on such terms of intimacy with him that I could do anything of the sort. I shall keep looking for something in the city. Something that pays more than a hundred guineas per annum,” he said, but with a resigned to failure sort of a slump to his shoulders.

What he really wished to discuss was not work or Rusholme, but Miss Millington. After assuring me she was not a great heiress or beauty, he went on to discuss such clouds of Titian hair, such large and lustrous hazel eyes, such a pretty little nose and unequaled smile that I was given to understand only a blind man would not find her an Incomparable. Her mind too, while not at all intellectual, seemed to have plumbed the depths of all philosophy. Only her dowry was unchanged—still inadequate.

“I would at least discuss going to Rusholme with Mr. Braden,” I insisted. “You would be no end of help to him, take over the reins of Rusholme gradually, as he is getting old. His gout bothers him a good deal lately. He would be grateful for your help.”

“What help could I give him? I know nothing of farming. Besides . . .”

“What bothers you?”

“He would take the idea I was hinting for the place, thinking to inherit it. It will go to your brother, Lizzie. I am surprised you urge me to ingratiate myself.”

A quick spurt of selfish hope that Jeremy might yet inherit warred with my growing like for Glandower. I had to remind myself he was a thief and a gambler, for my instinct was to press him to go home. “Nothing is settled in that respect,” was my comment.

He regarded me, his eyes alive with interest, but said nothing. I figured enough time had passed that Edmund would be at the Star and Garter. If he was not there, I had absolutely no notion how to find him. I realized we ought to have made our meeting place more definite, and blamed it on him we had not, as I was not aware how huge the area was.

We tracked back to the hotel. As we approached the door, Mitzi came racing forward to meet me. I did not know Edmund meant to bring her along, but it was quite as ingenious as any of his other ideas. It made an excellent excuse for him to accost us. I made a great fuss over my pug, patting her, and fearing her friendliness would alert Glandower we were not strangers.

Blount strolled over to us, apologizing for the outrageous manners of his mutt. “I was given her by a friend, who did an inferior job of training her,” he said, taking advantage of it to get in a dig at me.

“I disagree. She is charming and so friendly,” I retaliated.

We proceeded to some exchange of remarks upon Richmond Hill and its beauties. Edmund soon introduced himself as Mr. Haskins, and a relative stranger to the city. He inquired of Glandower, who was by then established as an inhabitant, what he might suggest for an evening’s entertainment.

Plays, musical shows, concerts and lectures were mentioned, all of which Sir Edmund listened to without any interest at all. “Did you have something specific in mind?” Glandower asked.

“As a matter of fact, I had,” he admitted. “I was hoping to get in on a card game. I do not belong to any of the clubs. Do you know of a private place that will accept a stranger, providing he is well inlaid?”

Cummings mentioned two such dens, but still Edmund frowned and was dissatisfied. “A friendly game with just a couple of fellows was what I had in mind,” he suggested.

“Where are you putting up, Mr. Haskins?” Cummings asked. “If I hear of a private game, I’ll send you word.”

“The Clarendon,” he answered, perhaps because he already had a room there.

“That is where
I
am staying,” I said, smiling like a regular hick.

“I think I can help you,” Glandower told him, his eyes running over Edmund to judge him for potential pickings. His tailoring was expensive, his general getup that of a gentleman of fashion. “Yes, I’ll leave an address off. Give the fellow at the door my name. He’ll make you welcome, Mr. Haskins.”

“Will you be part of the game yourself, sir?” Edmund inquired in a friendly, not overly curious manner.

“I thought you might like to go to a theater tonight, Lizzie?” Cummings said, making it a question.

I knew what was expected of me. “No, Maisie and I plan an early night. She is a trifle upset with the accident still. I shall stay at the hotel and bear her company.

“In that case, I expect you will see me this evening,” Glandower said to Edmund.

Edmund expressed his pleasure, made his adieux, then left. Mitzi remained behind, pawing at my skirt in the hope of being carried.

I was obliged to call after him. “Mr. Haskins! You have forgotten your dog!”

Blount covered his gaffe with his usual ingenuity. “Forgotten her? Why the truth of the matter is, I hoped I might manage to lose her. She is the worst infliction ever saddled on a man. I place the blame square on her last mistress.” Then he picked up the pug and left, delighted to have quizzed me when I was in no position to object.