Twice a Rake (5 page)

This afternoon was most decidedly
not
working out in the manner she had either expected or envisioned.

Blast it all.

With his concerns appeased, Lord Norcutt no longer seemed inclined to force his team to walk at a snail’s pace. He nudged them with the reins, and they took off at a canter. Before much time at all had passed, Aurora and Norcutt arrived at Hyde Park and saw Lord Merrick’s curricle near the Serpentine.

Norcutt raised a hand in greeting as he drew his vehicle closer. “Good afternoon to you both.” His face beamed brighter than a full moon in a cloudless sky. Pure joy etched itself across his visage. Such a pity that he would be devastated when Rebecca rejected his attentions.

That, she reminded herself, was none of her concern. If he wanted to get his hopes up and think he could possibly receive her favor, then so be it. Lord Norcutt was a grown man. He could look after his own heart.

They all exchanged various pleasantries and the gentlemen discussed the lovely sunshine they had been granted that day, and Aurora generally lost interest in the entire matter. The only matter she wanted to focus her attentions upon was the story in her journal, which felt like it might burn a hole straight through the muslin of her afternoon dress if she didn’t get back to it soon.

There were scenes that needed to be written, by gad. Namely, the wedding night.

“A race it is, then,” said Lord Norcutt. “First to the end of Rotten Row wins, and the loser buys the ladies an ice at Gunter’s.”

Oh, blast. A race? She really ought to object. Her hair would fly free of its pins, because she had prevented Rose from securing it properly, and then the wavy mass of it would be tangled into knots, and it would be pure and utter torture to have it all brushed out. No, a race just would not do. She turned to her escort, prepared to protest—but she was too late.

The curricle shot forward like a cannonball, tossing her back against the seat.

Her bonnet strings began to work loose beneath her chin. She grabbed hold of the bonnet to keep it atop her head and give her hair some chance at decency once it was all over.

In holding to her hat, she was forced to let loose the parasol and her journal. The parasol caught a gust of wind and whipped away from them, floating back to the ground and settling beside a tree next to the Serpentine. “Oh, my.” Her voice floated away in the wind, as well.

Trees and horses and riders whisked by, turning into a blur. Aurora looked down over the side of the curricle. Bad idea. Very, very,
very
bad idea. She gripped the brim of her bonnet tighter to her head and prayed that nothing would cause the silly contraption to capsize.

Lord Merrick drew up alongside them and gradually slipped ahead. Norcutt whipped the reins again, and his horses somehow gained more ground. The trees at the end of the Row were coming upon them so fast it seemed hazardous.

And finally they reached the end, with Lord Merrick and Rebecca’s curricle drawing up just a nose ahead of Lord Norcutt’s.

Aurora breathed a sigh of relief.

“Excellent race, my lords,” called out a laughing Rebecca. Her hat had blown off her head and her hair and cheeks were windblown, and she looked simply delighted at the afternoon’s proceedings.

“Ices, it is!” called Merrick. “But first, shall we collect the ladies’ bonnets and parasols and such? And I suppose our own hats as well.”

“Yes, and in a hurry, my man.” Norcutt had already turned his team around to make their way back to the grove of trees where Aurora’s parasol lay. “I should not wish to lose anything entirely.”

Nor would she. Aurora straightened the bonnet atop her head and smoothed her hands over her dress and pelisse.

And her heart almost stopped beating.

Her
journal
. It was gone. She stood in the curricle and searched beneath where she had been sitting, but it was nowhere to be found.

Norcutt looked upon her like she belonged in Bedlam. “Miss Hyatt? We shall fetch your things immediately. There is no cause for concern.”

“My journal. Have you seen my journal?” She tossed up the tail of his greatcoat where it lay on the bench beside her. “I must find my journal. It is a matter of dire importance, sir.” Life and death importance. Oh, dear good Lord, the things she had written there. If anyone were to come across it…

“I believe it must have gone missing with your parasol. Surely it will be here along the way.” He hurried the horses at the urgency in her voice.

“Oh, it simply
must
be.” If someone found it, if word got out, if Father learned… She was doomed.

When they arrived at the trees where her parasol lay, she leapt down from the curricle without waiting for his assistance and dashed to look under the foliage.

It wasn’t there. Nor was it tucked neatly into another nearby grove of trees. Nor could it be found alongside the Serpentine. It was nowhere.

Gone
.

Aurora got down on her knees to look behind a row of bushes. Lord Norcutt followed suit soon after. Lord Merrick came along with Rebecca, still laughing gaily with her hair flying freely at her side.

“I say, are we still missing some items?” Merrick’s flippant tone set Aurora’s blood to boiling.

“Miss Hyatt seems to have misplaced her journal.”

Rebecca’s gasp underscored the gravity of the situation. She flung herself to her knees as well, to assist in the process. Soon, all four of them were scrounging around upon their knees, most decidedly ruining their clothing and making utter fools of themselves as half the
ton
watched in combined shock, curiosity, and horror.

After nearly half an hour, they had all given up the search except for Aurora.

“I think,” said Rebecca, “it is time to stop, Miss Hyatt. Clearly, the journal is not here. We must assume that it has landed in the Serpentine and been washed away.”

Yes. Washed away. Perhaps that was the case. Perhaps her world would not crumble in all around her.

She slowly rose to her feet and brushed the grass and dirt from her gown. All the life had been sapped out of her in the search. She felt weak. Numb.

Perhaps no one would discover her secret.

Chapter Three

1 April, 1811

Life as I have known it is now over. It was nice to know you. Please remember me kindly.

~From the new journal of Miss Aurora Hyatt

“Today, my friend, is the first day of your future as a true gentleman.” Jonas stood before him as the picture of the London gentleman, with everything in precisely the proper place. Top hat, angled just so. Pantaloons, waistcoat, greatcoat, cravat. Check, check, check, check. Sheer elegance and perfection.

Devil take him.

Standing next to him, Quin felt like a buffoon. His breeches fit more snugly than he liked, his greatcoat hardly allowed him any free movement, the bloody cravat threatened to strangle him, and he’d be damned if he’d enjoy wearing a blasted beaver hat.

Jonas had tried to convince him to cut his hair along with the shave, but there were some things a man just simply couldn’t allow.

He attempted to stretch out his legs and arms, hoping to find a way to function in the fussy attire. “Can we get on with it already? I don’t know how long I can pass as a dandy.” At least not without swooning like a woman.

Jonas smirked. “Not very long.” He gave Quin’s appearance a final examination. “You really ought to have worn one of my coats. Something with some color. Something less funereal, sans the look of…well, death.”

Color. That would be the day. “I feel like death. Death agrees with me. Besides, we’re hunting for a bride. Isn’t that much the same as attending my own funeral?”

“How do you intend to catch a bride if you scare all the young ladies away? You look as dour as a gravedigger preparing to bury his father.”

“Excellent. That is just the look I had hoped for when I dressed this morning.” Quin failed to understand why his appearance was of such import.

Jonas heaved a sigh. “Well, I suppose there is nothing to be done for it. Shall we away?” He headed for his stables without waiting for Quin’s reply.

It was about time, too. While Quin wanted nothing less than to find a bride, the matter was no longer up for debate. And clearly his tactics had been dismal failures, at best. He might as well try what Jonas suggested, even if he thought it a ridiculous notion.

Honestly. Riding through Hyde Park and hoping to meet young ladies there? Impressing them with his posture on a horse? Making small talk? Making himself affable to their chaperones and escorts? None of this sounded like a good method of convincing a young lady that she was madly in love with him and needed to marry him at once. If anything, it sounded like a good method of landing himself in Bedlam.

But what did he have to lose? Only his sanity (which some might claim he’d already lost) and an afternoon.

He followed along behind Jonas, mounted his horse, and they were off. They reached the park well before the fashionable hour, but still several groups of walkers strolled along the Serpentine, and Rotten Row was filling with people on horseback and in a variety of carriages. As one group came upon another, they would all bow and curtsy and stop for conversation.

Bloody hell. He’d never felt so confined, so trapped, whilst out of doors. Perhaps he would toss himself into the Thames before they were through. Or maybe he’d toss Jonas, instead.

Yes, now that he thought about it for a moment, most assuredly Jonas.

“Ah, wonderful,” Jonas said. “Lord and Lady Tyndall and their daughter, Miss Tyndall, are headed our way on foot. Perhaps we should start with them.”

“Perhaps we should gouge out our eyes with dull, rusty daggers,” Quin responded. “That might be equally as pleasant.”

“Coward.”

“Degenerate.”

But Jonas afforded him no opportunity to hesitate. He lifted his hand and called, “Lord and Lady Tyndall. Lovely day today, is it not? And how delightful to see you out as well, Miss Tyndall.”

The baronet rode to the family’s side before Quin had a chance to stop him, leaving Quin with no choice but to join them or look the part of the cad. Which, of course, he was, but he was supposed to be mending his ways.

He had half a heart to toss his grandfather into the Thames now, instead of anyone else. Then he could just inherit and be done with it. Devilish old codger.

So he rode over to the
oh-so-delightful
Tyndall family and joined his friend.

“Have you all had the pleasure of meeting my good friend, Lord Quinton? He has finally come in from the country to give life in Town a try.”

Tyndall seemed interested and started to speak, but his wife shook her head furiously at him with a forbidding glare in her eyes. “I believe,” she said, “we must be on our way, Sir Jonas.” She tugged on the arms of both her husband and her daughter, whispering loudly to her husband, “Lord Quinton is
the
one
. We must
not
associate ourselves with him.” They walked at a much faster pace than their previous stroll and were out of earshot within moments.

“I told you this was a bad idea.” Quin watched the trio move along the Serpentine and stop at another group of walkers. They talked for a moment and then turned and pointed in his direction. The second group changed directions and walked away with the Tyndalls. “Are you ready to give up on this bag of moonshine yet? We need another plan. This will never work.”