The Harlow Hoyden (24 page)

“Excellent. I shall take my leave.” She handed his listening device to him and laid a soft kiss on the cheek in appreciation. “I thank you for your help, Mr. Squibbs, and England thanks you.”

Squibbs blushed, said it had been nothing, really, and insisted on escorting her to her
carriage. It wasn’t a safe neighborhood for her to be walking around in.

John Smith was pleased to see her. “Glad ye okay, miss.”

Emma climbed into the carriage and bid Mr. Squibbs good day. “And I don’t want you sending the duke a letter apprising him of my movements. First of all, it is none of his business. And second of all, I’m going directly there myself.”

Squibbs thought this was
precisely the sort of nonsensical statement only the quality were capable of and wished her well.

Because it had worked so well last time, Emma asked to speak with the dowager duchess. However, instead of being greeted in the drawing room by the duke, she was confronted with the great lady herself

Oh, what a bother,
thought Emma, crossly.
This is what I get for observing the propriety on the
eve of England’s destruction.

“Miss Harlow, to what do I owe the pleasure?” asked the duchess, polite as always but with a confused look on her face as she took in Emma’s plain dress, not at all the thing one wore to pay social calls.

To what indeed? Emma’s mind raced, searching for a convincing lie. “Mama sent me, to inquire after a scarf of hers, a blue silk scarf that she had with her when
we visited here last month for your lovely tea party. And it was such a lovely tea party, your grace. Mama and I talk about it all the time, asking ourselves why can’t all afternoon parties be as lovely as yours.”

“Organization is the key to all good social affairs,” she intoned wisely. “A lot of the young ladies of the
ton
do not take the time to organize, and their parties suffer for it. Here,
let me order us some tea and ask after your scarf. Blue, you say? I wonder why it has taken Margaret so long to realize she left it. She is usually a very keen observer when it comes to her possessions. She once lost a gold bracelet when we were in school together. She realized it was gone within ten minutes of its falling off, and she had the entire dormitory looking for it. I do believe I was
the one to find it.”

“It is because of Roger, your grace,” she explained. “He has been, among other things, a constant distraction for her.” If only that were true, thought Emma. In reality, Mama had only been distracted once since his return, on her way to a card party at Lord Firth’s.

“Oh, poor Roger,” she duchess said, shaking her head sympathetically. “How is your brother getting on?”

As Emma spoke of Roger’s recovery, she looked at the clock on the wall. How long she would she have to visit with the duchess before she could ask to see her son? That brought an even larger question to mind:
Could
she ask to see her son? Emma could very well imagine the duchess coolly bidding her good-bye. “And how is Philip adapting to London?” she asked, introducing the topic of male relations
and preparing to bring the relationship closer to home. “I recall your mentioning him the last time I was here.”

“Philip is well, my dear. How nice of you to remember. Trent and I are not accustomed to having youthful exuberance is our midst, but we’re holding up admirably.”

There, thought Emma, she said his name first. “And the duke, how is he?”

The duchess tsk-tsked. “He’s as vexing to
his mother as always, disappearing from London without a by-your-leave.”

“Then he’s not here?” asked Emma, faintly. It had never occurred to her that he wouldn’t be in town and ready to help her save the country.

“No, he hasn’t been here for three days. I don’t know what happened—” She broke off as a servant opened the door and motioned to the duchess. “What is it, Budge?”

“We can’t locate
a blue scarf,” answered the woman before bowing and closing the door behind her.

“Oh, well,” said Emma, standing up. She had no more time to waste. Windbag was probably a mile out of town by now. “I’m very sorry to have bothered you about it, your grace. Perhaps Mama is confused and only thought she wore the blue scarf. I will go home and check her dressing room. It’s probably there.”

The
duchess smiled agreeably. “No need to apologize. These things happen all the time.”

“You’re very kind,” she said. “Good day to you.”

Emma had let the hack go, thinking when she arrived that she would be departing in one of the duke’s coaches. But since the duke was out of town and had been for the past three days, she needed to flag down another conveyance. She was walking to the corner when
she heard Philip call out.

“I say, Miss Harlow,” he said from the top of the carriage, “where are you going?”

“I’m on my way home,” she said, thinking of what she’d do next. Going home, getting the curricle and racing to Dover seemed like the most sensible thing. But there was always the risk that the coach wouldn’t be available or that Sarah would interfere. She hated to waste more time.
Windbag already had an hour’s lead on her.

“Please let me escort you,” he said, with more manners that she thought him capable of.

Emma agreed. Hiring a hackney might take ten or more minutes, minutes that she didn’t have to spare. “Thank you, Philip,” she said, after she’d climbed up next to him. “The dowager was just telling me that Trent is out of town. Do you know where he went?”

Philip
shook his head. “I ain’t saying my cousin’s given to queer starts, cause he ain’t. He’s top o’ the trees, but I’ve never seen him behave so as he did on Sunday morning. He gathered his things, took his man and left without a word to anyone. Apparently, there is an emergency at one of the estates, but the duchess don’t about it. She says if there were a real emergency then someone would’ve alerted
her. I don’t know how true
that
is, since the duke’s the duke now and it’s his business to be worrying about the estates.”

Although he couldn’t have known she’d have use for him, Emma cursed the duke and the emergency that took him out of town at such an inconvenient time. Just when she needed a trusted ally. She would not despair, of course. Going after Windbag alone was her only option, though
she knew that her family would disapprove of the impropriety of it. Really, sometimes there were things more important than propriety. She
would
stop Windbag from delivering his evil message. She would not rest until England was safe.

“Miss Harlow?”

She looked at Philip in surprise. “Yes?”

“Are you all right? I’ve been talking to you for five minutes, but you haven’t acknowledged a word I’ve
said. You’ve just been staring through me, like I’m invisible. Is there something the matter?” he asked, sensing that the duke’s absence was a great source of distress for her. “I know I’m not my cousin, but I will gladly stand in his stead, if there is anything you need.”

“That is very kind of you, Philip,” she said, laying a hand over his. “You are a dear boy.”

“I’m not a boy,” he said vehemently.
“I know I’m still young and that I don’t got town polish like my cousin, but I’m no longer a boy. If there is some matter you need help with, I do wish you’d tell me. I would be honored to serve you.”

Emma thought this was a lovely speech and upon hearing it decided that she would confide all in Philip—confide all and take him with her. “I will tell you all directly but for the moment, make
a right at that corner and change directions. We are heading toward Dover.”

“What?” asked Philip, so shocked that he loosened up on the reins and missed the turn. “We’re going to Dover?”

“We are only
heading
toward Dover,” Emma said, pointing to the next turn. “We shouldn’t have to go all the way. There are still several hours yet until dark. We will catch him by nightfall, Philip, and be
back in time for dinner. Don’t you worry. Nobody’ll even notice we were gone. ”

Philip wasn’t worried about a thing. He had the sense to realize that the Harlow Hoyden was embarking on other escapade and that this time he had a front-row seat. Just wait until he told his friends about this. “Why are we heading to Dover?” he asked.

“To save England, my lad,” she said, folding her hands in her
lap and anticipating her next meeting with the insufferable, traitorous Sir Windbag. “To save England.”

CHAPTER TEN

In the early hours
following Lord Northrup’s ball, when he was still deep into his cups, the duke took it into his head to leave London. He had no one to talk over his idea with—Pearson had left two hours before—and no one to dissuade him from taking this course of action. His valet had looked very concerned by this hasty decision, but as it was not a matter of dress or appearance,
he kept his peace. He’d been with the duke for ten years now and knew the best way to hold on to his post was to tie an impeccable Windswept knot and to never question the master’s decisions. He did manage, however, to deter Trent from driving the coach himself.

The duke dashed off an illegible note to his mama, telling her he’d gotten word of an emergency at Pembroke Hall, threw a few articles
of clothing into a leather bag and left London. By that time the sun was starting to rise in the east.

The duke slept for the entire ride down to the hall, and when he got there he buried himself in his study, leaving a trail of confused servants behind him. They were eager, if a bit surprised, to serve him, and their willingness irritated Trent. He wished to be left alone. Although upon sobering,
he regretted the impulse that had taken him away from London and Emma, he quickly realized that it was for the best. A few weeks away would give him a chance to get her out of his system. If he’d stayed, he would’ve no doubt given in to the desire to see her, a desire that was constant. Here he had the luxury of distance. Even if he was overwhelmed by desire, he could do nothing about it.

He
had not been home for several months, and as always there were repairs to be made to the estate. There were no emergencies, of course, but there was certainly enough to keep him busy for a fortnight at least. He scribbled another note to his mother—legible this time—explaining his absence. He did not mention Emma, for the dowager didn’t need to know about that, but he wrote of important work that
needed to be done. He doubted that his mother would believe his excuse, but he also knew that she would never guess at the real reason. She would simply dismiss it as the strange behavior of a gentleman. No doubt his father had done something similar at least once in his life.

Lavinia’s note arrived on the second day. Seeing the name of Harlow on the envelope, he’d thought for one beautiful fleeting
moment that Emma had written to beg him to return to town. When he saw that it was from her sister, he curled it onto a ball and threw it to the other side of the room. It lay there on the floor, a light blue piece of writing paper on a dark red carpet, for nearly the whole day. After dinner, Trent returned to the library and saw the letter exactly where he’d left it. “Damn servants,” he muttered,
picking it up.

He stared at it for several minutes before gently unfolding it. He read. “Dear Trent: I know whatever it is that has taken you from town must be very important to cause you to leave at this very moment. Something has happened with Emma that I wish very much to talk to you, my dear friend, about. She has done something extremely rash and, I think, ill conceived. It is my belief
that you could help save her before it’s too late. Fondly, Vinnie.”

The duke lay his head back and sighed heavily. As much as he wanted to tell Vinnie to go to the devil, he knew he could not ignore the summons, not when it had something to do with Emma. What mess had she gotten herself into this time? He thought of the words Vinnie applied to her behavior:
ill conceived
and
rash.
When had the
Harlow Hoyden
not
done something ill conceived and rash? The blasted woman believed she was invincible, he thought, recalling some of her stunts. Fearing the worst, he looked outside and cursed the darkness. He would not return to London the way he left it: shabbily and without a care. He would wait till morning and depart Pembroke Hall then. Vinnie’s tone had been forceful but not panicked, leading
him to assume that the danger to Emma wasn’t immediate. Whatever needed his attention could wait until the afternoon.

The duke was later in returning to London than he had expected. Thanks to a particularly deep pothole outside of Ashtonhurst, they had to pull into a posting house and fix a wheel. The duke passed a frustrating two hours trying to digest stale bread and read a three-day-old newspaper.
Try as he might to distract them, his thoughts kept returning to Emma. He’d spent sixteen hours now with the news that something was wrong, and the nonchalant attitude he had felt upon first learning of it had deserted him. A sense of panic set in, as he pictured all sorts of horrible things, from her accepting a proposal from Carson to her murdering Sir Windbag. During the trip into London,
the duke was forced to admit that his imagination was more vivid than he’d ever suspected.

He went straight to Emma’s house, rather than waste time stopping at home to change. It was not quite the thing to make social calls in clothes covered with travel dust, but as far as the duke was concerned, he wasn't making a social call.