This Rake of Mine (22 page)

Then again, probably not, but she couldn't help but feel a little bit of blame.

Taking one last glance around the room, she finally spied it. A bright brass key, hanging on a peg high over the opening to the stairs. She could never reach it, given its dangerously lofty perch, but then she had another idea, and caught up the spyglass, pulled it out to its full length, and used it to flip the key from its hanger.

For a split second she thought it was going to go tumbling through the opening and down the stairs, but she snatched it out of the air just in time.

And before she had any second thoughts, she shoved the key into the hole and turned it until the lock sprang open. Even as her one hand went to the lid, and her other worked to pry the latch open, one startling question sprang to mind.

What are you going to do if you discover something odious in this box?

Like a raft of French brandy?

Or the body of that woman from last night?

She reeled back and eyed the chest with a healthy dose of trepidation. Curiosity was a demanding mistress, and Miranda knew she'd never be able to walk away from this Pandora's box without taking just one small peek.

Really, her hesitation was nothing more than too many hours in the carriage listening to Tally reading aloud from her gothic novels or giving heed to claims of curses.

Then from down below she heard Pippin laughing, a sound full of happy innocence. It sparkled with sunshine and made her dark thoughts seem all that much more ominous.

If those girls were in harm's way, she had a duty to see them safe.

That thought was enough to square up her resolve, and she wrenched open the lid.

As she peered down into it, she discovered that her imagination was as overwrought as Tally's novels.

For inside there was nothing but a pair of lanterns, spare wicks, flints, and a coil of rope.

She sat back and sighed. Hardly condemning evidence this. Nothing unusual, really.

Drawing a deep breath, she let it out. And even as she took her next one, a familiar odor filled her nostrils.

She poked her nose back into the crate and dug around some more, until her fingers curled around the butt of a pistol, her other hand landing on a small powder keg—so that was the acrid scent that had caught her attention. No wonder it was so familiar; her father's warehouse had from time to time held naval commissions of gunpowder.

She searched a bit further when something heavy jangled from beneath the coil of rope. She closed her fingers over it and pulled it free—only to find an evil-looking pair of manacles hanging before her stunned eyes.

A pistol? Manacles?

When added to Lord John's odd collection of servants, the disappearing woman, and Sir Norris's accusations, Miranda didn't know what to think.

This went beyond a little bit of illegal trade in French brandy.

What the devil was going on at Thistleton Park?

Folly of a very dangerous sort, she realized, putting everything back in its place. Glancing out across the sea at the endless waves, she felt more perplexed than ever by this impossible man.

A man who seemed destined to leave her scandalized and, at the same time, adrift with desire.

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O
nce back at the house, Miranda knew there was no better diversion than a bit of hard work, so she threw the doors to the music room open and directed the girls to set to work cleaning it. While they balked a bit at first, when an exquisite pianoforte was discovered under a Holland cover, Tally was inspired.

"No playing until this room is spotless," Miranda told her. Thus ordered and motivated, Tally bullied her sister and cousin into helping her, all the while gazing longingly at the wonderful and long-unused instrument.

If anything, Miranda reasoned, the labors would leave them too exhausted to hatch any more of their schemes. And to her further delight, Mr. Stillings arrived with the blacksmith. She left the girls to their labors while she went out to listen to their driver's report and pay the craftsman.

Not a minute later, Felicity stopped in the middle of the room. "I don't know why I didn't see this before!" She rushed about the room, yanking off the covers and throwing back the heavy drapes. "This is the perfect place."

"Perfect place for what?" Pippin's nose twitched back and forth. "An airing? This room has a very odd smell to it."

"Romance!" Felicity declared, throwing open the French doors that led outside. Beyond lay a very neglected rose garden that looked like it hadn't seen the touch of a spade or shears in twenty years.

"I don't know," Pippin said, her nose still wrinkled.

"A bit of fresh air and flowers will do the trick," Felicity assured her. "We'll have an evening musical and invite Miss Porter and Lord John. Tally, you can play your Mozart. And then, when the mood is set, Pippin, you will find some excuse for all of us to leave them alone."

Pippin glanced around the dusty room. "I don't see how we can get this room in order in time. Miss Porter is out with Mr. Stillings and the blacksmith right now. It doesn't take that long to fit a shoe back on."

Felicity glanced toward the open door, then lowered her voice. "Then you should have seen fit to take off more than one."

Pippin bristled. "Next time you do it. It was hard enough getting the one off without being caught."

Felicity heaved a sigh. "But they need more time. Perhaps you could remove—"

Her cousin stopped her right there. "I can't very well sneak out and pry off another shoe. It will be too obvious."

"I suppose so," Felicity agreed. "If only there was another way."

Tally, who had been peeking beneath the Holland covers, looked up, her eyes alight. "Do you remember that time in St. Petersburg when we were delayed because the harnesses had been stolen? And Papa thought Nanny Tasha was responsible?"

Felicity grinned at her sister. "Yes, that's it! We'll steal the harnesses tonight."

"Really, don't you think that will be as obvious as the missing shoe?" Pippin pointed out.

Felicity turned to her cousin. "Then what do you suggest?"

The coltish girl paced about the room, as if considering their options. "Perhaps we could loosen some of the stitches, maybe break a couple of the buckles. Father once had a very clumsy stable lad who dropped a bucket of feed on his racing harness and it was completely unusable."

Felicity grinned. "That's perfect! Now all we have to do is lure Miss Porter and Jack in here, lull them with some romantic music, then we'll slip out and see to the harnesses."

Pippin shook her head. "Miss Porter is a stickler for propriety. She'll never remain here with Jack unattended."

"They were up in the tower for quite a while this afternoon," Felicity countered. "And would have remained so if you hadn't gone in there and called her down for lunch."

Pippin shrugged. "It wasn't proper for them to be up there alone." She thought the world of Miss Porter and only wanted her happiness. Sometimes Felicity and Tally were… well, a bit overbearing.

Felicity waved her off. "You sound like Miss Emery. Didn't you see Miss Porter's countenance when she came down? She looked particularly flustered. As if she'd been kissed."

Tally's mouth fell open. "You think Jack kissed Miss Porter?"

Her sister nodded sagely. "He is a rake and she is a woman."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Tally shook her head. "Then why didn't she look more pleased? In fact, she looked pale when she came down. And she certainly didn't let us linger over Mr. Birdwell's excellent picnic."

"No, she didn't," Pippin added. "And then nothing but lessons all afternoon up in our room. If she is a lady in love, then I'm not sure I want anything to do with it. It appears to be a miserable state."

"Well, it will all be for naught if we leave in the morrow without them forming an attachment," Felicity declared.

Pippin wasn't done making her case. Besides, she didn't look forward to an afternoon cleaning the music room. "Miss Porter hardly seems amenable to him, and all they've ever done is argue."

Felicity smiled. "But don't you see? They are just fighting nature."

"Ahem," came a discreet cough at the door.

Felicity and Pippin spun around, while Tally scrambled up from her unladylike slouch.

"Mr. Birdwell!" Felicity said, shooting a glance that cried out caution to her compatriots. "I hope you don't mind, Miss Porter suggested we tidy up this room a bit so we may practice our music."

"Yes, our music," Tally enthused, rising and rushing over to the pianoforte in the corner. "Lord John mentioned he had a fondness for music and we thought—"

"Yes, I know what you thought," the old butler said. Then he winked at them and added, "And I find it an admirable notion."

Gooseflesh ran down Felicity's arms. With Mr. Birdwell's help, there would be nothing to stop them.

Miranda let out a sigh of relief when she arrived at dinner and Jack was nowhere to be found. Felicity, on the other hand, looked ready to go hunt the man up and bring him to the table at the end of a musket.

And apparently she'd have Birdwell's help as well.

"My deepest apologies, Miss Langley," he was telling her, "but his lordship has been delayed by pressing business."

Pressing business, bah!
Miranda thought. Perhaps he'd found a new lady from which to extort gold.

Or whom he was seducing…

She pressed her lips together and pushed that thought aside.

"Will Lord John be gone all evening?" Felicity pressed.

"Miss Langley," she admonished. "Our host's business and schedule are none of our concern."

Tally poked her food around her plate with her fork. "I'd hoped he'd come listen to me play tonight."

Birdwell smiled at her. "Never fear, Miss Thalia. When his lordship hears you on the pianoforte, you'll lure him away from his ledger book."

Miranda glanced from Felicity to Tally to Pippin and saw a spark of hope in their eyes. Oh, heavens. Not this again. And before she could nip their plans in the bud, the Duchess was one step ahead of her.

"It seems a shame, Mr. Birdwell," Felicity began, "that Jack never married."

Miranda nearly choked on her wine. "Felicity Langley!"

"Well, it is, Miss Porter," the girl protested. "He is a gentleman, and every gentleman should be induced to wed. Miss Emery says so."

There was no arguing with Miss Emery's prime directive, but there were exceptions to every rule, and there was no better example than Mad Jack Tremont.

"Lord John's life is his own concern," Miranda told them. "And it is not polite to speculate as to what he should or has not done."

The incorrigible Felicity was not to be stopped. "It is a dire shame, isn't it, Mr. Birdwell?"

The butler nodded. "A terrible one, miss."

The girl shot a triumphant glance across the table. Nor did it seem she was satisfied to have just found an ally. Felicity Langley was out to win the war. "I would think a man of Lord John's fine temperament would be lonely here at Thistleton Park. Surely he must miss Town."

And much to Miranda's chagrin, Birdwell fell into line like a career soldier. "A terribly lonely life, miss."

Having suffered under the delusion that she was actually in charge of these girls, Miranda knew she was going to have to make a last stand to halt this runaway matchmaking scheme.

"Felicity Langley, if you do not stop this inappropriate line of conversation, I will confiscate your
Chronicles
and dispatch them to Miss Emery."

Every bit of color drained from the girl's face.

There, that had done it. Now there would be no more of this nonsense, Miranda reasoned.

She'd reasoned wrong.

After a few minutes of quiet and proper dining, Tally dared to speak up. After all, she had no notebook to lose. "Miss Porter, perhaps you could persuade Jack to come listen to me play?"

Miranda's gaze swung up. "Me? Whyever do you think I have any influence on his lordship?"

Tally sat up straighter. "I believe he holds your opinions in high regard."

"Stuff and nonsense," Miranda told her.

"No, it is true," Pippin said, as if on cue. "Jack listens to what you have to say." The girl smiled a sly grin. "And he likes to look at you when you aren't looking."

"That does sound like he has a
tendre
for you, Miss Porter," Felicity pointed out, as if she were the expert on such matters.

And before Miranda could tell them they were all as bird-witted as she'd ever seen, there came a reply from the doorway.

"Who has a
tendre
for Miss Porter?"

She looked up and found Jack lounging in the doorway, a rakish grin pasted on his face. Gone was the scruffy, dangerous-looking man of the past few days, for he'd taken extra pains to dress for the evening.

Shaved and brushed—why, he'd even trimmed his hair, and this time with scissors, she had to imagine. He looked much as he had in his heyday in Town. The dark green coat may be nine years out of fashion, but he still wore it with style and vigor. To his credit, his cravat looked as snowy as if it had been washed and tended by the most lofty and finicky of valets.

She didn't even venture a glance at the tight cut of his buff breeches or the polish on his Hessians encasing his long, muscular legs.

Well, perhaps she did. Dear heavens, when he looked like that, it was easy to forgive him, easy to forget the dangerous man he'd hidden beneath this finery.

"Jack!" Felicity said. "You look so handsome."

"Oh, yes," Tally enthused. "Why, you would put the loftiest of dukes to shame. Your cravat is divine."

"Hardly," he told them. "I had to dig these out of a trunk. But you can compliment Birdwell for the cravat—he took special care to iron it for me. And then cautioned me against creasing it, for he wasn't about to do another one."

Pippin pointed at his jacket. "You are missing a button."

Miranda nearly choked on her wine.
Missing a button?
She looked at the coat again. Gracious heavens! It was the jacket he'd been wearing that night.