Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage] (14 page)

“You prefer him to me?” Blanchard’s tone was shocked. “If you wanted to marry that badly, I would have taken you.”

Edwina’s smile was colder than a snake’s bottom. “How condescending of you, Henry.”

“That didn’t quite sound…” her cousin blustered, so mortified, Prescott actually felt sorry for the bugger. But not much.

“Be that as it may, I have chosen to be with Mr. Devane. There’s more to him than fancy clothes and gilded charm. He’s trustworthy and wields good judgment.”

Prescott liked how she was defending him to her cousin. She wasn’t talking about his charm or his graceful dancing, but about his character. For once it was nice to be described in such noble terms, even if it was a ruse.

“Moreover,” Edwina continued, “Mr. Devane treats me well and I appreciate his consideration. He’s a good sort. Which you will soon discover once you get to know him.”

“Get to know him?” Blanchard looked like he was going to have an apoplectic fit.

“You and I well know the damage that vicious tongues can inflict. I pray you don’t judge Mr. Devane by reputation alone, but give him the chance to show you what kind of man he truly is.”

Damn, if Edwina didn’t manage to sound sincere. A small part of him was actually beginning to believe she regarded him so kindly. It was a bit boggling, but gave him a warm feeling in his chest just the same.

“And what of your father?” Blanchard asked, crustily. “He’s likely to burst a blood vessel when he hears about this. As it is, he’s already up in arms about you and your society of bluestocking, fix-the-world fe
males.” Pressing his gloved hand to his head as if pained, Blanchard declared, “Not that he’ll hear it from me—he’d likely shoot the messenger.”

“I can handle my father.”

“Have a care, Edwina.” Blanchard wagged a finger. “It’s easy enough to defy him when he’s not around, but when the Earl of Wootton-Barrett wants to impose his will, you know how futile it is to resist.”

“Thank you for your concern, cousin. But I don’t believe that I have much to worry over.” Yet the lady’s anxious mien belied her words. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pinched, and an apprehensive gleam clouded her luminous gaze. The impression wasn’t helped by the fact that she was clutching her fan so tightly her hand quivered.

“I will call upon you on the morrow, cousin,” Blanchard declared. “We can discuss things further then.” He glared at Prescott meaningfully.

After the sounds of Henry’s heels clicking on the stone veranda could be heard no more, Edwina turned to Prescott. “I apologize for my cousin’s behavior.”

“Oh, no apology’s necessary.” He held out his arm and looked toward the French doors. “Suddenly I’m finding that I’ve had my fill of hearty congratulations.”

“I see your mask is in place once more.”

He blinked, surprised she’d noticed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

She sighed. “I can hardly blame you. On the one hand, I’m a little envious that you can veil your feelings so quickly. Yet it must be taxing, and more than a little lonely sometimes.”

“One gets used to it,” he lied.

“I don’t know that I could be so forbearing.”

He tilted his head. “It’s not forbearance, but selfishness. I won’t let just any person see the real me.” For if they did, they might just forsake him, an event to which he could never quite grow accustomed.

S
ir Lee sat on a park bench puffing on his West Indian cigar and enjoying the afternoon sun. His old bones needed more warmth than ever before and nothing quite compared to nature’s own hearth.

Although he sensed the man’s presence long before the crunch of stones on the path ceased behind him, Sir Lee did not turn. “Good day, Wheaton.”

After a moment of silence, his former protégé, Tristram Wheaton, stepped around the bench, moved the folded newspaper aside and sat down beside him. “What’s so bloody good about it?”

Sir Lee motioned with his cane. “The birds are singing, the sun is shining.”

“Don’t tell me you asked me here for a diatribe on the scenery.”

“Of course not. But can’t you find a moment in your life simply to appreciate the world around you?”

“You’re becoming melancholic, Sir Lee.” Wheaton’s icy blue eyes narrowed. “Speaking of which, you’re not looking particularly well these days. Is the blackmailer turning out to be a bit too much for you?”

“Of course not.” Sir Lee frowned, knowing that in this instance, at least, Wheaton wasn’t simply egging him on. He
was
tired. Feeling every moment of his seventy-plus age down to his aching joints. “It’s these blasted balls, musicales and the like. The
ton
is up and about until dawn and then sleeps the day away. It’s unnatural, I tell you. No matter when I lay my head upon my pillow I am up when the sun rises. This social calendar is getting…well, tiresome.”

“Growing a bit crotchety in your old age, are you?”

“Crotchetiness is highly underrated. Besides, I’m past seventy and entitled.”

“Still, Sir Lee.” Wheaton waved his cane toward the building across the park. “No matter your mood, it cannot be helped by the view.”

Wheaton was one of the few people in this world who knew that the whitewashed indigent hospital across the way was where Sir Lee’s daughter had died, destitute, alone, and without a stitch of family in the world to support her.

“It’s coming here that keeps me on track.” Sir Lee exhaled. “It reminds me that my work is all I have left. I have no family, I have no heirs. It also reminds me not to be too proud. Pride is a very lonely bedfellow at the end of a long life.”

“She chose to leave…”

“After I’d given her an ultimatum.” Shaking his head, Sir Lee couldn’t recall the incident without shame. “Pride ran thick in our veins, but, after me, no more.”

“So now you’re consumed with death, are you?”

“Nay, Wheaton, consumed with life. And how to live out the rest of my days in a manner that does me some semblance of credit.”

Sir Lee turned to his former protégé. “It was coming here that gave me the idea for how to trap our friend, Mr. Quince. Sniffing after the fellow at balls and soirees and the like leaves him in control and us flailing.” Holding up his hand he curled it into a tight fist. “We need to
contain
the bugger.”

“Contain?” Wheaton’s bushy white brows lifted.

“I’m going to arrange a country house party where a number of the people on your list of suspected victims and possible accomplices are invited as guests. I will be a late addition to that guest list, a doddering old gent who couldn’t harm a fly.”

Wheaton scratched his chin. “Fish in a barrel, eh?”

“It’s the best way to see which ones stink.”

“So you’ve learned nothing about those fish so far?”

“Oh, I’ve scratched up a thing or two about the people on your list. By the by, have you ever heard of The Society for the Enrichment and Learning of Females?”

“Nay. What is it?”

“Supposedly a place where ladies gather to study and do good works together. One of the ladies on your list is a member there.”

“You believe it’s connected to Quince?”

“I cannot say for certain until I learn more. What I do suspect is that it is fertile ground for subversive activities. What better place to gain information or plant the seeds of unrest than in the bedroom or breakfast room? Daughters of earls, wives of viscounts, mothers
of barons can be members. It’s a perfect place for subterfuge.” Resting his chin on his hands, he leaned on his cane. “I will discover the truth of it.”

Wheaton chuckled, reclining against the park bench. “You’re just upset that you didn’t think of it first.”

Sir Lee lifted a shoulder. “That doesn’t mean I can’t fashion the society for my own ends.”

“You were always very good at turning traitors into resources, I’ll grant you that.” Staring off in the distance, Wheaton’s cool blue eyes narrowed. “Hmmm. If there are any seeds to be planted though, they’ll be mine to sow, you know.”

“Of course, Wheaton. I’m retired, which you hardly allow me to forget.” He shrugged. “When the time comes, I’ll hand everything over to you.”

Wheaton nodded. “Very well then. But what of this house party? How do you intend to ensure that Quince takes the bait?”

“I sent letters to a select few on the blackmailer’s list and have no doubt they will attend. And if Quince is as crafty as I believe he is, then he will probably ensure that a few more of his players are part of the party.” He licked his lips. “But to make it work, I need your man there, more than anyone. It will be far too tempting for Quince to ignore.”

“Absolutely not!” Wheaton made a cutting motion with his hand. “I told you to leave him out of it! I want him back in town working for me, not off in the country subject to Quince’s designs.”

“I have enough means and can set the stage well enough to have a reasonable certainty that Quince will take the bait, but if your man comes, then he’ll be a
hooked fish for sure.”

“It’s too risky—”

“At a country house party? Be serious, Wheaton. You want this ended quickly. This is the fastest way to ensure results.”

“Look, Sir Lee, I know how meticulously you plan such things—”

“And my proven results.”

“Those, too. But even if I was to support this plan, he wouldn’t agree to do it.”

“Your man wants this nasty business over, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s rusticating at his estate, mind you. Unless you’ve arranged for the Prince to host the damned thing himself, what possible reason could he have for simply showing up at a house party midseason?”

Smiling, Sir Lee picked up the newspaper from the bench beside him and handed it to Wheaton.

“What, the broadsheet?”

“Read it.”

Pulling his quizzing glass out of his pocket, Wheaton held the paper out. “It’s the bloomin’ gossip column!”

“Just read it.”

After a long moment, Wheaton lowered the newspaper, and looked off to stare in the distance. “It’s good…”

“Good? It’s bloody well perfect! It explains his presence at the house party flawlessly.”

“Then why not simply come back to London? Why go there?”

“Because things will be moving too fast. It will be a
very well-coordinated spring-of-the-moment affair. Bags will be packed, unloaded, and all off and running within this side of ten days.”

“As these things go, that’s very last moment.”

Sir Lee smiled. “I know. Which is why I will control the whole affair, down to the last detail.”

Scratching his chin, Wheaton nodded. “I make no promises…”

Sitting forward, a surge of excitement shot through Sir Lee. “But you’ll ask him? And press him to cooperate…?”

“That I will. But I want your assurance that he will be protected above all else.”

Smiling, Sir Lee leaned back. “Of that, you have my word. I have this very well planned. Everyone I want accepts the invitation and Quince takes the bait. Fish in a barrel.”

Wheaton held up the newspaper. “Did you notice this bit here, by any chance?”

“I took it as a sign that my plan is headed in the right direction.” Agents by nature were a suspicious lot, as they both well knew.

“So there’s no connection?”

“Nay, he’s an orphan. From Andersen Hall. I’ll dig a little more, but think it’s a waste of time.”

Wheaton stood, towering over Sir Lee and blocking out the sun. “So you think you can have this whole mess wrapped up in a few weeks’ time?”

“I’m confident of it.” Leaning on his cane, he rose.

“Good luck to you then.” With the crunch of pebbles under his bootheels, Wheaton strode off.

Closing his eyes and inhaling a pine-scented breath, Sir Lee took a moment to savor the accomplishment of
step number one.

He opened his eyes, resolved, eager and ready for steps two, three and four. Like a ball rolling down a hill, a plan once started speeds up until its natural or unnatural conclusion.

Sir Lee spun on his heel, set his cane and strolled in the other direction, the crunch of the pebbles announcing his procession.

Nearing the corner of the park, he took one last glance at the hospital across the way, the familiar regret still burrowed deep in his heart.

He stopped and turned to face the building, and for the countless time since learning of his daughter’s lonely demise, sent off a prayer asking for her forgiveness.

He would do what good he could in the last days of his life. He only hoped he had a few left with which to work.

A
few nights later, Edwina noticed the interested stares, the hard looks and the couched whispers as they passed, but Prescott’s ripping chatter and the way he capably maneuvered them through the crowded ballroom kept her safe from any controversy.

“Heavens, it’s warm in here,” Edwina commented. “How High Society loves a good crush. For the life of me, I can’t understand why.”

“It’s the stimulation, my lady. The excitement that can only be generated by a mob.”

Or a well-muscled thigh brushing mine. So long as it’s scented with a little musk.

To Edwina’s ultimate disappointment, tonight Prescott was behaving the perfect gentleman. There hadn’t been a hint of the possibility of a kiss the whole carriage ride from her house, but given that Janelle had ridden with them, Edwina supposed that was to be expected.

Edwina was obsessed by the kiss in the alcove, playing it over and over in her mind. The heat of his body, the press of his hands, the silky touch of his tongue dancing with hers, the fiery sensations surging through her when he’d rubbed her breast…

The memory alone made her body burn with need. She felt parched for another taste of his elixir, her every moment haunted by the specter of the possibility of another kiss.

Not that they’d had much of a chance for one. Prescott had spent the last couple of days at Andersen Hall with Dr. Winner and Evie, since the little girl had fallen ill with a fever. It was endearing how Prescott had only left Evie once he’d seen that she’d recovered. He’d reported as much to Edwina this afternoon, when she’d finally gotten to see him again. But their reunion was abruptly cut short when Janelle and Lucy had charged in, insisting that Prescott join them in the society to see their latest charitable project.

Thereafter, the ladies of the society had hogged his attentions all afternoon. Not even Edwina’s pretense about needing some air had peeled him from their grasp. Ginny, Lucy and Janelle decided that a group walk in the park was in order. Part of Edwina was delighted that her friends welcomed him so, the other part was wondering what might just happen if she stole a moment alone with her supposed fiancé.

And now they were surrounded by hundreds of interested eyes.

No,
she sighed,
a kiss is not bloody likely.
Inwardly she chastised herself for her foul tongue. Or was it her foul thoughts that should garner the indictment?
Somehow, what she’d done with Prescott hadn’t felt indecent; it had felt quite…heavenly.

“Don’t worry.” Prescott leaned over, his breath teasing the fine hairs on her neck, making her shiver. “The night is young yet and we’re bound to spot those shoes, if the wearer is here. I’m thinking that we might have better luck if we check the card room.”

“Ah, yes,” Edwina replied, feeling silly that she was ruminating on a kiss when they had an evil blackmailer to find. “While the gentlemen are sitting. Sounds like a good idea.”

“Move to the left, Edwina, I want to avoid Mrs. Warren.”

As he negotiated her through the throng, Edwina wondered aloud, “I can’t imagine she doesn’t know how rude she is with her thousand questions.”

Prescott lifted a burly shoulder. “She’s simply trying to sort out what a lovely lady like you is doing with a wolfish muckworm like me.”

The flattery about her revamped appearance pleased her but…“Don’t speak in such denigrating terms, Prescott. Even if it’s to represent someone else’s view.”

His eyes scanned the crowd. “If the reputation fits…”

“About as well as Lady Cartridge’s skintight gown,” she muttered.

He looked down at her, his brow furrowed and the corner of his lush lip lifted as if surprised. “Did you just make a jest, my lady?”

Her lips quirked. “Astonishing isn’t it?”

A deep chuckle escaped from his mouth, a sound so joyous, Edwina suddenly laughed in response, feeling at once witty, charming and almost pretty.

“Heads are turning,” he murmured, as the crowd pushed them about like seashells pitched by the current. “Everyone wants to be included in the jest.”

It felt good to laugh; her anxiety seemed to dissolve in the sheer fun of being with Prescott. When she was with him she didn’t fret about her father or Ginny’s fate or feel like she was fighting a mighty current in pursuit of her future happiness. She simply enjoyed the moment, a very special gift.

As a dour-faced lady with almost as many diamonds around her neck as freckles on her face craned her red head to overhear, Edwina leaned toward Prescott. “You have a gift for making people feel comfortable, Prescott.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

Reminded of Tomlin’s praise a few nights before, Edwina wondered at how Prescott seemed to dismiss appreciation as nothing noteworthy. Or was it that he didn’t deem
himself
noteworthy?

“I’m not talking about your ability to charm the scales off a dragon,” she countered. “It’s…I don’t know, an ability to make someone feel…accepted. You don’t judge people overmuch, do you?”

“Only myself,” he replied. “And often the assessment is wanting. Here, there’s an opening, let us go through.”

Purposefully guiding her away from the dour-faced lady, Prescott led her toward the supper room and the crowd thickened around them. The scents of lily, rose, carnation, lavender and French violet blended together in a stifling concoction that smelled nothing like fresh flowers.

Edwina suddenly realized that Prescott seemed to
maneuver her away from the ladies whenever possible. “Why do you move me closer to the gentlemen? Is it because they are less inquiring?”

“Some of the ladies use pins to secure parts of their ensemble.” Pressed together in the crowd, he smiled down at her. “In a crush like this, they don’t tickle.”

“Oh.” Edwina blinked, marveling at Prescott’s ability to be empathetic. She was reminded of a tale her banker had once told her. Leaning up, she asked in his ear, “Have you ever heard the story about the Hebrew scholar, Hillel?”

He shook his head.

“A group of pagans told him that they would convert if he could recite the entirety of his religion’s teachings while standing on one foot.”

A glimmer of interest flickered in his emerald eyes and she felt encouraged to go on. “He stood on one foot and said, ‘Do unto others as you would have done to you. The rest is commentary.’”

His handsome face lighted with a wide smile and she was so gratified to have been able to amuse him she felt an answering grin lifting her own lips.

“You do that,” she murmured. “It’s very…gentlemanly.”

His smile remained fixed but she could see the light in his eyes dim. And even though they were wedged closer than cabbage leaves, she felt his withdrawal like a raw wind on a wintry day.

“Did I…did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not.” He looked away, his eyes scanning the crowd. “I think we’re almost through.”

“Prescott?”

“What?”

“Please look at me.”

Exhaling noisily as if pained, his gaze met hers. “Yes?”

“I apologize if I offended you in any way. Obviously it was unintentional.”

“You didn’t offend me.” His tone was curt.

“Then why do I still feel the draft on my face where you slammed the proverbial door?”

He stared at her a long moment, his brow furrowed as if she were some sort of enigma. Then his gaze softened. “I’m not offended, my lady, I assure you. It was something that…well, a gentleman is the one distinction that I will never call my own. So…” Those broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I suppose the arrow hit a bit too close for comfort.”

Raising her hand in pledge, she declared, “I swear on my honor never to insult you by calling you gentlemanly ever again.”

To her great relief, his face relaxed and he chuckled, the very response she’d been hoping for. He shook his head. “I must confess, my lady, you’re not exactly how I imagined you’d be.”

“How so?” She held her breath, hating that she cared so much what he thought of her.

“Well, for one thing, you’ve got a nice sense of humor. When I first met you…”

“I looked as if I should be carrying a broom, ready to give a sound thrashing?”

He smiled. “Something like that. You seemed so, well…reserved.”

“I was. I mean I am.” Her cheeks heated. “What I mean to say is that when I’m with you I don’t feel that way.”

“I think it was just your hairstyle. Wearing your hair that tightly had to hurt; no wonder you were a bit of a crosspatch.”

She felt her lips quirk. “Curls do wonders for a girl’s disposition.”

His handsome face transformed into a wide, white smile that she felt all the way down to her toes.

She pursed her lips. “But I will not allow you to distract me from my purpose, Prescott, no matter how you try. I will spit out this compliment, even if it kills me.”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “If you must…”

“Oh, I must. Though I dare not say you are gentlemanly, I will declare that the ease which others feel in your presence is generated from your chivalrous deportment.”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “Oh how you flatter me, my lady.”

“If the reputation fits…”

His smile was warm, blanketing her like sunshine on a cloudless day. “You know, Edwina, you have a tendency to know exactly the right thing to say—”

“After the very wrong thing that I say,” she interrupted.

“Everyone puts his foot in his mouth at some point or other. You simply have a knack for removing it with aplomb.”

“Thank you, Prescott, I do try. I simply attempt to be honest and say what I know would make me feel better if the positions were reversed.”

“So you try to be ‘gentlemanly,’ do you?”

“Be careful with those insults, or I might just have to call you out.”

His easy smile met hers and the warmth in his gaze
made her feel as if she’d peeked behind the mask shielding his heart. A small swell of victory blossomed in her chest and she hugged the feeling close, knowing that he only let in very few, and rarely at that. She understood that it was a special moment that she would revisit again once all this was over.

“Lady Ross.” A stout man dressed in a peacock blue coat stood before them barring their way. His white breeches that were of a style better suited to a much slimmer gentleman, and the sour look on his face flattered no one at all. “Mr. Devane.”

Chatter around them screeched to a halt and all eyes turned to stare at the imposing Frederick Millsboro, Baron Oxley, and his latest quarry. The man was known as being one of the nosiest rumormongers in the
ton,
only to be rivaled by his older sister the Viscountess Langston. The brother and sister looked alike as well; both had spiky russet hair, matching bristly brows, brown, piercing eyes and long, horsey faces.

Craning his neck in what had to be an uncomfortably intricate cravat knot, Lord Oxley stomped his cane on the floor and glared at Edwina through his quizzing glass. “I’ve heard that congratulations are in order, my dear. But I must confess, I’m surprised by your choice of future husband. He’s not exactly cut of posh cloth.”

Any remaining conversation in the nearby crowd hushed, and a pocket of silence entombed them within the raucous throng.

“Nay, my lord,” Prescott replied. “My cloth is used to far more washings a year.”

A lady giggled behind him.

“That, Devane, is obvious,” Oxley huffed, not quite understanding the play on words. Darting his eyes
about the crowd, he puffed out his chest. “And as such, I wonder at the wisdom of such a selection when there are far superior fabrics to choose from.” His smile was smug.

Prescott turned to Edwina. “The man’s right, you know. Orphans don’t exactly make the best husbands.”

“See.” Lord Oxley waved his cane. “Even the man knows the lay of the land.”

Perhaps it was the reassuring feel of Prescott’s strong arm beneath her hand or the security of knowing he was by her side to help her if she faltered. But with an amazing sense of confidence, Edwina went along with the play. “I am most concerned. Pray, explain to me the shortcomings of marrying an orphan, Mr. Devane. For it might cause me to reassess.”

Prescott scratched his chin. “Well, I don’t have any relations to come stay with us for months on end. The house will be quiet and all our own, I regret to say. Likewise, I’ve no aged aunts or uncles to support in their dotage.”

“So we would miss out on such engaging conversation? That is a shame.”

“And I’m without any nieces in need of a season or two, which is always so exciting.”

“I suppose we could always host a ball or two on our own.”

“Yes, but you won’t have all of those wardrobes to acquire and I know how ladies love those shopping expeditions.”

“Although husbands tend to shudder at the bills.” Popping open her fan, Edwina waved it distractedly. “Are you certain you don’t have a cousin or two hiding out in the wings who are desirous of purchasing a com
mission in the army? I do wish to support our efforts abroad.”

Shaking his head, Prescott sighed. “I can contribute none of the typical advantages of family to our union, I’m afraid to say.”

Lord Oxley blinked behind his quizzing glass as it suddenly registered that these might not be so undesirable at all.

“Hmmm.” Edwina tapped her fan to her lips. “That does raise an interesting question. So on holidays, there would be no conflict about whose family we would join?”

“I’m afraid not. Which means we will be even further entrenched into the bosom of your family.”

Brandishing her fan, Edwina turned to Lord Oxley. “As a father of four girls, is that a good or a bad state of affairs?”

The whispers began and Lord Oxley’s eyes nervously flitted about. No doubt Lady Oxley would be interested in his very public response. He licked his lips, groping for what words to use. “Uh, good. Of course.” Lord Oxley exposed pink gums with his wide false smile. “A daughter can’t be too close to home, I always say.”

Edwina looked up at Prescott. “Are there any other shortcomings I should know of?”

“Well, as we’d agreed, when I die everything goes either to our children or back to your kin.”