Chapter Nine

 

By breakfast the following morning, a cross Lord Ravenswood decided his old business partner, Lord Montcross, must have held a secret grudge against him. Otherwise, he would not have cursed him with Eugene.

Since the earl had woken, Eugene had driven him near the brink of madness. The manservant had hovered over him, fussing like a mother hen, taking forever with the selection of the day’s attire and the grooming of his master. By the time Eugene shaved him and helped him dress, Anthony felt smothered.

In the small dining room, the earl tried to use the Times as a shield against further contretemps with the manservant. A footman poured him some coffee and moved to an array of hot dishes on the sideboard, but before he could inquire what his lordship desired, Eugene dismissed him with a flick of his fingers.

“Master, Mrs. Ware has cooked the eggs to perfection this morning. May I bring you some?”

“Very good,” Anthony replied vaguely.

Spooning the eggs onto a plate, Eugene asked, “And a rasher of bacon would be tasty as well, would it not, master?”

Anthony felt his temper rise. He snapped the newspaper. “Yes, Eugene. Add a muffin and some kippers, and that will be all,” he told him dismissively.

“Yes, master.” Eugene placed the heavy plate in front of Lord Ravenswood. “What are your plans for today?”

Anthony knew at once he did not want Eugene shadowing him while he went to ask Mr. Blenkinsop for his daughter’s hand in marriage. The manservant knew nothing of his decision to offer for her, and Anthony preferred to keep it that way. “I am going to Hoby’s to order a new pair of Hessians. I shall not require your presence.”

“As you wish, master.”

Drinking coffee, while Eugene stood guard from his position by the sideboard, Anthony considered his proposed meeting with Mr. Blenkinsop. The family would be pleased to accept his suit, of that there was no doubt.

Indeed, he reflected cynically, Mrs. Blenkinsop would lord his capture over the other matchmaking names. The ton in general would view the couple with approval.

A picture of a pair of light green eyes sprang into his mind. What would Miss Kendall think of his betrothal?

Anthony placed his cup back in its saucer. The brew tasted bitter. Rather than dwelling on a lady he had decided would not suit him, he set his mind to the difficult chore of disentangling himself from Eugene. He wished to offer for Miss Blenkinsop free of interference and have the matter over and done.

It proved no easy task. Anthony ordered Eugene to remain at home while he went to Hoby’s. Upon reaching the boot maker’s shop, though, he sighed when he spotted Eugene getting out of a hackney a short way down the street. The Egyptian man’s white garments stood out in the bustling crowd. The earl threw the reins to his tiger and told him to wait twenty minutes, then take the phaeton home.

Anthony ordered a new pair of boots, then resorted to the old ploy of slipping out the back way of the shop, all the while cursing the circumstances that had brought him to such a pass. He could not fathom what Eugene’s motivations were for staying with him like a sticking plaster.

He wryly congratulated himself, however, when he arrived at the Blenkinsops’ house in Grosvenor Square without Eugene being the wiser.

He asked for Mr. Blenkinsop, confident he would not have long to wait. In this, he was wrong. He cooled his heels in the Blue Saloon a good thirty minutes. During this time, he heard a scream followed by a loud crash coming from the floor above him.

Beginning to wonder what the deuce was going on, Lord Ravenswood was further puzzled by the entrance of Mrs. Blenkinsop and her daughter instead of Mr. Blenkinsop.

He rose and bowed to the ladies. They seated themselves on a sofa, and he sat opposite them, observing that Miss Blenkinsop was even paler than usual. She wore a white muslin gown with a lace fichu tucked in the neck of the dress. Her manner, though, seemed a bit more animated to the earl.

In sharp contrast to her daughter, Mrs. Blenkinsop’s color was high. She wore a gown of purple silk and an air of fury.

But the tone of her voice when she spoke to the earl was mollifying. “My lord, it is most provoking. I have just learned that Mr. Blenkinsop has taken the buffleheaded notion into his brainbox that he must race off to Surrey chasing after some musty old book.”

“Father collects antique volumes, my lord,” Elfleta explained.

Mrs. Blenkinsop eyed her repressively. “It is too bad of him and aggravating beyond words that he should choose to indulge himself at this time. He left at the crack of dawn this morning, quite without my permission, and is not expected back until midday Monday.”

For some unexplainable reason, Anthony felt his shoulders relax and tension drain from his chest. “I shall call on him Tuesday, then.”

“Pish!” Mrs. Blenkinsop exclaimed. “There is no need to wait that long. Mr. Blenkinsop will be happy to receive you Monday afternoon. You young people should not be forced to postpone announcing your, er, happy news.” Mrs. Blenkinsop winked awfully.

Repressing a shudder, Lord Ravenswood said, “I am afraid I cannot call on Monday. I am promised to friends for a country fair in High Jones.”

Elfleta tilted her head at him. She despised the country, but now that she and the earl were all but betrothed, he belonged to her. By rights, if he were going to a fair, he should be escorting her. “A country fair.  How diverting, my lord.”

This broad hint for an invitation caused Lord Ravenswood a moment of unease. He had no desire to increase the party by including his intended and her mother. This would be the only occasion where he would meet Miss Kendall before she learned of his engagement. For some perplexing reason, it was important he share this last day with her.

“A prior commitment requires me to attend. I fear it will be dull work, Miss Blenkinsop.” He rose. “I shall do myself the honor of calling on Mr. Blenkinsop on Tuesday. Pray excuse me, ladies.” He bowed, and raising an eyebrow at her unexpected boldness, he accepted Miss Blenkinsop’s proffered hand and kissed her knuckles.

“We shall look forward to it, my lord,” Mrs. Blenkinsop trilled.

Lord Ravenswood took his leave, bent on spending the rest of the day at his club, White’s, where he would be certain not to encounter any females.

As soon as he quit the room, Elfleta slouched back on the sofa and pouted. “I want to go to that fair.”

“But, Elf, you know you detest the country,” Mrs. Blenkinsop said in some surprise.

“It makes no difference. Lord Ravenswood should have invited me.”

“Well, you shall soon be engaged and appear on his arm at all the events that matter. Surely a country fair cannot be important.” Mrs. Blenkinsop stood and walked to the door. “No need for a fit of the sullens, Elf. All will be well. Except, of course, for your father. All will not be well for him when he returns. I shall see to that! The vexing man.”

Left alone, Elfleta picked listlessly at her gown. Her lips pressed firmly together, she wondered who his lordship planned to attend at the fair.

Coming to a sudden decision, she rang for a servant. “Fetch me a pen and paper,” she instructed the footman who appeared.

The man ran to do her bidding. Elfleta smiled to herself. She would ask Lord Guy to call on her. He seemed smitten. Perhaps he could be persuaded to take her to the fair.

* * * *

In St. James Street, Lord Guy had a number of the gentlemen in his set gathered around him outside White’s club. He gave them a highly altered tale of the previous evening’s events.

“Weary from dancing with all the beauties at the Pelhams’, I returned home to find my bedchamber in shambles.”

“What do you suppose they were looking for, Guy?” a voice asked. “The secret of how your hair stays up high like that?”

A round of good-natured ribbing followed this question. Lord Guy laughed and remained unperturbed. He knew he looked his best today in a coat of tawny orange and pantaloons of a paler orange shade. His waistcoat, also pale orange, had yellow birds frozen in flight embroidered across it.

His pride and joy, the pom-poms on his boots, were a tawny orange to match his coat. He observed with no small measure of satisfaction that young Lord Trimmer had emulated the style. The peer’s boots sported pom-poms of a bright blue shade to coordinate with his coat. This validation of his ability to set a fashion pleased Lord Guy no end.

Lord Guy noted Lord Ravenswood approaching the club and made as if to hail him. Having his friends see he was on intimate terms with the earl could only increase his standing. But Ravenswood’s black expression challenged anyone to greet him as he walked by the group with an all-encompassing nod. Lord Guy’s mouth formed a moue of distaste after the earl passed into the club.

He continued his story. “As I was saying, my poor valet lay bound and gagged on the floor. I swung around and saw the intruder was a huge man with a chest like a barrel. The blackguard towered above me and had the wild look of a bedlamite, but I was not deterred. I delivered a right-handed blow and the fellow went down.”

At this juncture, the company’s attention was distracted by the arrival of a sedan chair. This elegant vehicle was lined with white satin, and on its floor lay a white fur rug. A hush fell over the group as the vehicle’s occupant alighted, obviously intending on going into White’s. Lord Guy felt his pulse gallop. Here was no less a personage than Mr. Brummell himself to see him surrounded by friends in his moment of glory!

Lord Guy aligned one booted foot so that Brummell, the unchallenged leader of fashion, could not fail to observe his pom-poms.

Beau Brummell paused. His fingers found his quizzing glass. He slowly raised it to his eye and leveled it at Lord Guy’s boots. Silence reigned.

“Did Hoby make those boots?” the Beau inquired mildly.

Lord Guy puffed out his chest with pride. “’Twas my invention, but Meyer & Miller made them.”

Brummell dropped his quizzing glass. “Ah, that is welcome news. For a moment I thought I would be forced to take my custom elsewhere.”

As one, Lord Guy’s friends followed Brummell into the club. Lord Trimmer dropped behind for a moment to rip the offending pom-poms from his boots and toss them into the street.

Lord Guy, crimson with anger and humiliation, stood alone.

“My lord, my lord!”

Lord Guy swung around and recognized one of the Duchess of Welbourne’s footmen. “What is it?”

“Message for you, sir.”

“Give it to me and be gone,” Lord Guy said curtly. Opening the missive he scanned the contents, and his eyes narrowed. Miss Blenkinsop requested him to call on her at his earliest convenience. He would most certainly go. He wondered what service he might perform for Lord Ravenswood’s soon-to-be fiancée.

Minutes later he bowed low over Elfleta’s hand. “Lovely lady, I came at once.”

The new Elfleta did not demur at the compliment. She knew it was only her due. Her charms would shortly be held incomparable by all once the announcement of her engagement reached the ears of the ton.

“Lord Guy, I knew I could count on your assistance.”

“Indeed, your trust was not misplaced, Miss Blenkinsop. Why, only last night I fought off a vicious housebreaker.”

At Elfleta’s gasp Lord Guy recounted the fictionalized tale. Some of his pride was restored by the girl’s fascination with the account and her murmured admiration for his bravery.

Lord Guy concluded by asking what service he might perform for her.

Elfleta pouted. “Oh, it is only that Lord Ravenswood has refused to escort me to the fair in High Jones this Monday. It is too bad of him as I hear a group of very fashionable people plan to attend.” She had heard no such thing, of course, but was determined to attend the fair and knew the inducement of other members of the ton might sway Lord Guy.

“I say,” he said with a frown. “Never heard of it myself.  High Jones?”

“Yes,” Elfleta assured him. Her hazel eyes gazed at him hopefully.

Lord Guy took the bait. Why not? Here might be an opportunity to put the superior Earl of Ravenswood out of curl. “I shall consider it an honor to escort you. Miss Blenkinsop. Would noon suit you?”

Elfleta smiled. “Oh, yes. I never stray from my room before then.”

Sensible girl, Lord Guy thought, walking down the front step of the town house. A large dowry, he would wager, and what was equally important, she knew how to dress. Her pretty distress at his story of the housebreaker could only serve to further endear her to him. All in all, Miss Blenkinsop was unexceptionable.

What a shame Ravenswood had been before him. Still, nothing was official. Miss Blenkinsop said her papa was away from Town and not expected to return until Monday. The earl had not had an opportunity to speak with him.

Lord Guy remembered Ravenswood’s high-handed treatment of him at the Egyptian Hall and his subsequent coolness. It would afford Lord Guy a great deal of pleasure to come between the haughty Ravenswood and his intended. And how his friends would stare if he stole the prize out from under Ravenswood’s nose!

Lord Guy whistled a jaunty tune and mentally planned the ensemble he would wear to the fair Monday.

* * * *

In Clarges Street, meanwhile, Miss Shelby entered the drawing room and stopped short. Daphne sat on the dark green settee with an open book in her hand. Her attention was not on the pages, however. Instead her gaze focused somewhere beyond the tall window.

Air dreaming, Miss Shelby thought and sighed. Something of significance had occurred last night at the Pelhams’ ball, of that she was certain. Miss Shelby’s intuition told her it was more than just Isabella’s disturbing arrival. But it was clear her young friend was not yet ready to talk about whatever was troubling her.

“Daphne, my dear, how are you this morning?”

Daphne wrenched her thoughts back to the present. She had once again been in that deserted anteroom with the earl. Grateful to Miss Shelby for the interruption of these pointless contemplations, she smiled and patted the seat next to her. “Good morning, Leonie. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, indeed, yes,” Miss Shelby dissembled.

She had, in fact, tossed and turned upon her bed for the majority of the night. Her thoughts had centered on Eugene and her deepening feelings for him. She believed he returned her sentiments, and this view caused her great joy. But the manservant was not free to declare himself. Miss Shelby was at a loss as to know how, or even if, this would happen.

But Daphne did not need to be burdened with anyone else’s problems. She sat on the settee next to her.

Daphne reached over and squeezed her hand affectionately. “I am glad you rested well, Leonie. Mihos kept me company last night. His leg has healed nicely.”

“Thanks to your tender nursing,” Miss Shelby reminded her.

Daphne smiled. “I am very fond of him, you know. Soon we must return him to Lord Ravenswood, and I shall be sad to do so.”

Miss Shelby’s sharp gaze recognized the wistful expression on Daphne’s face. While Mihos was an adorable feline, she would wager the young woman’s forlorn countenance was caused by the cat’s owner.

Miss Shelby lifted a hand and delicately smoothed Daphne’s hair. “Mihos is a love. One must get past his ferocious, growling meow to know the true gentleness of his character.”

“He does sometimes behave like a tiger, roaring and acting fierce.”

Miss Shelby nodded and gave a little laugh. “So like the gentlemen, would you not say? They often present one face, even say certain things, when what lies in their hearts is something altogether different.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Daphne replied absently. She swallowed hard, and her gaze strayed back to the window.

Miss Shelby dropped her hand, content that she had planted a seed. “Does it not appear to be a lovely day? I wonder, dear, if you might wish to do some shopping. I confess I have allowed Folly access to my bedchamber, and the lamentable result is I need a new bonnet for our trip to the fair.”

Daphne turned her head back to her companion, her eyes twinkling. “Never say that ramshackle fellow has chewed your bonnet. He has quite the penchant for headgear.”

Miss Shelby chuckled. “I am afraid so. I believe it might be beaver that attracts him. Recollect that Lord Ravenswood’s hat was made of beaver, and my bonnet was trimmed in beaver.”

“You may have the right of it,” Daphne replied. “I remember when Folly mangled his lordship’s hat.”

“Shall we spend the day shopping, then?”

“Yes. I am sure to find several things I will not know I need until I see them,” Daphne said.

If the cheerful note Daphne injected into her voice was a trifle forced. Miss Shelby was encouraged by it nonetheless. Besides, what lady’s spirits were not raised by shopping?

Later Miss Shelby’s prediction that the excursion would do her young friend good proved accurate. Daphne’s face glowed with pleasure as the ladies examined one fashionable trinket after another.

James limped along beside them until Daphne noticed the strain on the footman’s face. She promptly sent him to the carriage with their packages. The two ladies entered a millinery shop, prepared not to leave without the perfect new bonnet for Miss Shelby.

A few blocks away down an alley, Vincent Phillips stood outside in front of the pawnshop where Lord Guy had told him he had sold the cat statue. The thief huddled in his greatcoat, the English climate harsh to one used to the warmth of Egypt.

He waited until another customer left the shop, then entered. He nodded to the burly proprietor and quickly ran his gaze over the goods displayed. There was no sign of the Bastet statue.

“Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” the man behind the counter asked.

Vincent took the man’s measure. Despite his large size, his face was weak. In this part of Town he would be used to dealing with members of the Quality rather than rough commoners. “Yes. I hope you can help me. I am truly in the suds with my sister,” he said, lies tripping easily from his tongue.

“Heh. Females. You don’t needs to tell Joe Simmons they’re nothing but trouble.”

Vincent smiled cordially. “Well, Mr. Simmons, I have been playing rather deep and pledged a cat statue that is a favorite of my sister. Unfortunately I lost and have had the devil’s own time of it with Prunella ever since.”

His expression turned rueful. “Abominable of me, I daresay, gambling away my sister’s adored trinket, but there it is. All I can do now is try to get it back. Fellow that won the cursed cat from me said he sold it here.”

Mr. Simmons winked. “Don’t you worry, sir. I believe I haves it.”

Vincent’s eyes glittered. “Excellent. I did not see it on display and despaired that you still possessed it.”

The shopkeeper moved away to a cabinet behind the counter. “The gent that brought it in had a nervous way about him. Put me in mind of thinkin’ it might be stolen. I’ve been keepin’ it aside for a whiles.”

“Was he a slim gentleman with blond hair worn high on his head?” Vincent asked. He paused and remembered the dandy’s colorful coats. “Probably dressed in a garish color.”

Mr. Simmons nodded. “That be him. And here is your Miss Prunella’s cat. Although I would call it more a figure than a statue.”

Vincent stared at the ivory cat figurine in the proprietor’s hand. His fists clenched at his sides. What kind of trick—but the instant the thought formed, he recalled the terror on the face of the fop at the Duchess of Welbourne’s house. The man would fear retribution too much to lie.

The tinkling of a bell heralded the arrival of another customer, a finely dressed gentleman.

Having no desire to call attention to himself, Vincent paid for the figurine with every evidence of relief when in fact he was seething. So close. He had thought himself so close to having the Bastet statue at last.

He thrust the ivory cat into his greatcoat pocket and went out into the street. Walking rapidly, he tried to think. Somehow he would have to find Eugene and beat the truth out of him.

Fury made him almost blind. He would have walked right past Miss Shelby and Daphne had the younger lady not hailed him. “Mr. Phillips? I thought it was you.”

Vincent froze in his tracks. His gaze rested on Miss Shelby, and he could have laughed out loud in glee. Here was Eugene’s ladylove dropped like a ripe plum into his hands!

He bowed over Daphne’s hand. “Miss Kendall. How delightful to see you again. And looking so fresh and lovely in that azure pelisse.”

“You are kind, sir. May I present my companion, Miss Shelby,” Daphne said.

Vincent nodded at the older woman. Miss Shelby gave a brief nod in return. Her brow furrowed as she listened to Daphne and Mr. Phillips exchange pleasantries.

“We were shopping for a new bonnet for Miss Shelby. She had to have one today, for Monday we are to enjoy a rare treat, a country fair.”

“I hope you may enjoy yourselves.”

“Thank you, sir. I thought we might see you last evening at the Pelhams’. But then I realized, had you received an invitation, you must have felt you could not attend out of respect for your grandfather,” Daphne said sympathetically.

Having completely forgotten about telling Miss Kendall that the baron was dead, Vincent stood silent for a moment. Then, recalling the lie, he said, “In truth, Miss Kendall, I do not feel it proper to attend spirited functions as yet.”

“I can understand, Mr. Phillips.”

“Perhaps you would allow me to call on you, Miss Kendall. I shall wait until Tuesday as you say you will, er, be away from home all Monday, is that correct?”

Daphne blushed a little but answered positively and gave her direction for lack of an excuse not to. She could not be interested in any gentleman other than Lord Ravenswood, but that did not make her unable to pass the time in a morning call with Mr. Phillips.

Her sunny demeanor must have had a beneficial effect on the Egyptian gentleman. Daphne thought, because he walked away with a wide smile on his face which had not been there at the beginning of their conversation.

“How do you know Mr. Phillips, Daphne?” Miss Shelby asked as they made their way to their coach.

“I met him at the Egyptian Hall, Leonie. He has come to England from Egypt. His grandfather, who was a baron in Suffolk, died recently.”

“I see,” Miss Shelby said slowly. “There is a sinister aura around him, dear. I cannot think well of him.”

“Really? I thought him quite companionable.”

“Appearances can be deceiving. Do be careful, Daphne.”

Daphne linked her arm with her companion’s. She could only love dear Leonie all the more for her sweet concern. “Come, let us go home and admire your new bonnet. Do not fret about Mr. Phillips. What harm could he possibly cause me?”