When Hermione arrived home after several hours spent in the company of her sympathetic friends at Leonora’s house, she freshened up a bit, then hurried out to the tiny mews behind the house in Half-Moon Street.
At the time she and her father had moved from Upperton House in Grosvenor Square to their rental house, she’d cringed at how much stable space they were giving up, but now that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were gone, the small stable felt vast. Or at the very least empty.
Only her own riding mount was there now—her father having sold his own horses long ago, preferring to rely on hired carriages. Queen Mab was a pretty black mare whom Hermione had loved at first sight. “Hello, old thing,” she crooned to the mare, who nuzzled Hermione’s neck then sniffed the air for the scent of treats.
“Of course I didn’t come empty-handed,” she said, producing a shiny apple from the pocket of her coat. “See, I know what my girl likes.”
“My lady,” said a gruff voice from behind her. “If I might have a word.”
Hermione sighed. She loved Jameson, but whenever he wanted to have a word it inevitably meant bad news.
Giving Mab one last scratch on the nose, she turned to the man who’d set her atop her first pony, and taught her everything she knew about horses.
“Of course, Jameson,” she said with a smile. “I needed to speak to you, as well.”
She’d not wanted to confess to him that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern would be gone—possibly forever—out of shame. It was unlikely that Jameson was unaware of her father’s recklessness. He’d been with the family since she was a child, after all. And their removal from the comparatively palatial house in Grosvenor Square must have signaled to him that finances were not all that they could be. Still, it was with flushed cheeks and not quite meeting his eye that she told him of her coaching pair’s repossession.
To his credit, Jameson didn’t flinch at her tale. But when she chanced a look at his face, she saw that his lips were tight with anger. At her father she had little doubt. His family might have served the Upperton family for generations, but he was hardly required to like them. Especially the present earl, who had depleted the family stables to the point of near disappearance.
“I am that sorry to hear it, my lady,” Jameson said gruffly. “I know how you loved that pair.”
He could hardly have missed it considering she spent every spare moment fussing over them and ensuring they had every comfort. Still, it was soothing to her broken heart.
“Thank you, Jameson,” she said sincerely. “I know you have endured much with this family, and I know it cannot be easy. But I am hopeful that their removal will only be temporary and we will get them back.”
“Aye, my lady,” he replied, giving no hint as to whether he believed her promise or not. “In the meantime, we’ll do what we can to take care of what we have.”
“Now, you wanted to speak to me of some other matter?” she asked, not daring to hope that it would be something good he intended to tell her.
Jameson nodded. “It’s nothing to do with our stables, my lady.” He lowered his voice and glanced left then right, as if ensuring they would not be overheard. “It’s the fellow who has the one next door.”
Hermione was shocked at his words. “What of him?” she asked in a low voice.
“He was poking his nose around here yesterday,” Jameson said with a frown. “Made out how he was just being friendly like at first, but there was something about the way he asked questions that set my back up. Wanted to know just where you’d got the coaching pair in particular. Wasn’t none of his business so I never said outright, but he was persistent, he was.”
Since her father hadn’t lost Rosencrantz and Guildenstern until last night, the man’s curiosity the afternoon before was suspicious. Could Lord Saintcrow have targeted her horses with an eye toward persuading her father to offer them for wager? Of course it was possibly a mad coincidence that he’d lost them the very night that her neighbor inquired after them, but it seemed too convenient.
“What was this man’s name?” she asked Jameson.
“Fleetwood, my lady,” the groom said grimly. “He lives with his sister, he said. In that house there.” He pointed to the house to the right of the Upperton back garden.
Hermione smiled. The fact that Fleetwood lived with his sister was a good thing, considering it would be highly improper for her to call upon an unmarried man. But calling upon a female neighbor would be unexceptionable.
“I shall simply have to pay a call upon this sister of his,” she said with a grin. “In the spirit of being neighborly, of course.”
But Jameson clearly did not think it as fine an idea as she did. “My lady, I don’t like the notion of you visiting that house. I didn’t like the fellow and make no mistake. There was something … not right about the man.”
It was a rare break in protocol for Jameson to raise an objection to Hermione’s actions. He’d not spoken so openly to her since she was a girl. And while she appreciated his concern on the one hand, on the other, she knew she had to make her own decisions. Especially if Mr. Fleetwood’s curiosity had somehow influenced the loss of her beloved horses.
“I do not doubt you mean the best, Jameson,” she said kindly, “but I promise I will be careful. And calling upon a neighbor lady is quite safe, no matter how untoward her brother might be. We are not in so elevated a neighborhood as we once were, but neither are we in the East End where thieves and the like run rampant.”
“You must do as you think best, my lady,” Jameson said stiffly, but it was clear he was not best pleased.
“Thank you,” Hermione told him, suppressing the urge to hug him as she’d done as a child. In many ways, Jameson had been a better father to her than Lord Upperton had been. “I promise to be cautious.”
And with that, he would have to make do.
Leaving Jameson to his work, Hermione stepped out of the stables and into the narrow lane that ran behind the row of houses.
The back garden of the Fleetwoods’ house was tidy enough, and had clearly once been someone’s pride and joy, for though the flower beds looked to have long lain dormant, there were enough climbing vines and bushes scattered throughout to prove that someone with a taste for beauty had planted them.
It was, perhaps, not customary to pay a social call by knocking at the kitchen door of a home, but maybe she could learn more about the Fleetwoods by asking the cook for some cuttings from what looked to be a thriving kitchen garden. At least what little she could see of it from the fence line.
Stepping through the wooden gate, and onto the stone path that led through the garden, she was startled to hear a sharp cry from somewhere ahead of her.
Jameson’s warnings still fresh in her mind, she debated whether it would be best to turn around and leave. But what if someone was hurt? And needed her help?
Her decision made, she continued forward in the direction from which she’d heard the cries.
“Hello?” she called out, wending her way through the overgrown shrubbery. “Is someone there? Are you hurt?”
There was no answer and as she pressed on, she came to a clearing, where a brick courtyard led up to the back of the house.
A courtyard that was currently deserted, with the exception of a black-and-white cat, who watched Hermione’s approach with lazy interest.
“You’re on private property,” a loud male voice said sharply from behind her. Startled from its languor, the cat sprinted off.
Hermione wished she might do the same.
Turning to face her accuser, she saw an unfamiliar dark-haired gentleman, whose scowl made her wish she had listened to Jameson’s warning.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said, hoping to placate him. “I was hoping to ask your cook for some cuttings from the garden.” It had sounded like a good enough excuse at the time, but in the face of her neighbor’s anger, she wasn’t so sure.
She said nothing of the cry she’d heard. She wasn’t sure why, but somehow she knew the man would not like knowing she’d heard it.
But despite her best attempt at pleasantries, he did not unbend.
“If you wish to speak to someone in the house, you can use the front door like any other lady of quality.” His implication being that because she’d chosen the door at the back of the house she was not such a lady.
Before she could respond, he turned and gestured to the gate through which she’d come. “Let me see you to the gate, miss.”
Hermione’s sense of self-preservation warred with curiosity.
Curiosity won.
“It’s ‘lady,’ actually,” she said with unrelenting pleasantness. “Lady Hermione Upperton. Since we are neighbors, I don’t think the tabbies will frown too terribly much on me for introducing myself. My father is the Earl of Upperton and we live, as you might already have deduced, in the house next door.”
The man looked as if he were about to reply, when a shout from the lane behind them drew their attention.
“There you are!” said the Earl of Mainwaring, his curly dark hair ruffling in the breeze. He hurried toward them, as if he and Hermione had been separated unexpectedly. “I’ve been searching all over for you, Lady Hermione.”
What the devil was he doing here?
“Won’t you introduce me to your friend?” he asked pointedly, as if they were in a ballroom rather than the back garden of her “friend’s” house. His expression was bland, but Hermione could feel the annoyance coming off him in waves.
“We’ve not been introduced,” Hermione said stiffly. “I was just about to ask his name when you arrived so unexpectedly.”
“Mainwaring,” said the interloper, holding out his hand to Hermione’s neighbor, ignoring the way she glared at him. “I like this courtyard very much, indeed. I’ve been thinking of doing something on a similar scale at my own house, though it’s difficult to convince the mater to make any changes at all. You know how mothers can be, eh?”
To Hermione’s surprise, the man seemed to relax in the face of Mainwaring’s chatter and gave a grudging nod. Clearly he took the earl’s upper-class-twit act at face value.
“I do indeed understand,” he said with a smile. Giving a slight bow, he said, “Robert Fleetwood at your service. I’m afraid I must have seemed unwelcoming to your lady, here. It’s just that I worry about my sister. She suffers from nerves and I fear that she will be overset by the sight of unfamiliar people in the garden, which she considers to be her private domain.”
Annoyed that the man had revealed to Mainwaring what he’d been so reluctant to tell her, Hermione wondered if his tale about his sister was truthful. He seemed sincere, but she could not trust him in light of what Jameson had told her.
“I am sorry to hear of your sister’s illness,” she said despite her misgivings. Then, deciding to test Mr. Fleetwood now that Mainwaring was there to offer her protection, she continued. “I hope it wasn’t she I heard crying out earlier. It was definitely a female voice and she sounded quite overset.”
Was it her imagination or was that a flash of anger in Fleetwood’s eyes? She’d have to ask Mainwaring about it later.
Still, he seemed unruffled enough when he spoke a few seconds later.
“Indeed,” Fleetwood said with a frown. “It was very likely Mariah. She suffers from nerves and is unable to contain herself at times. Which is why I chose this house with its very private garden.”
Hermione felt a blush rise at the man’s pointed look. But Mainwaring saved her from further apologies by speaking up. “I do hope she’ll be feeling more the thing soon,” he said, all sympathy. “Lady Hermione and I will leave now so that you may go to her at once.”
And though she would have liked to remain for a bit longer to question Mr. Fleetwood about his sister and perhaps to question whether he was acquainted with Lord Saintcrow, Mainwaring linked her arm with his and with a wave in Fleetwood’s direction led her back through the garden and to the lane beyond.
She waited until they were safely out of earshot before turning on him.
“What on earth was that? You had no business interrupting my conversation and behaving as if we had some prearranged meeting.” She opened the gate to her own garden with more vehemence than necessary and it whipped backward on its hinges. “What business could you possibly have in the lane behind my house?”
Following her at a leisurely pace, Mainwaring shut the gate calmly behind him as he trailed her to a little sitting area in the corner of the garden. On the side opposite that of Fleetwood’s house.
She had no intention of inviting him into the house. Especially not after he’d spoiled her encounter with Mr. Fleetwood.
“It’s all very innocent, I assure you,” Mainwaring said, leaning a broad shoulder against a sturdy wooden arch covered with climbing roses. His coat of blue superfine was without so much as a speck of dust, but he seemed unworried about the possibility of picking up pollen from the blooms. “I called to speak with your father, and when I learned he was out, I asked for you. I was told you were in the stables, and picked up your trail there.”
His words brought her up sharp.
“Why were you here to see Papa?” she asked in a tight voice, though she had a very good idea.
Mainwaring’s look of discomfort only confirmed it.
“It is not your responsibility to confront him over my horses,” she said firmly. “I appreciate your concern, but there is no need for you to fight my battles for me.”
“I was there when he lost them,” Mainwaring said quietly, and she felt a sting of betrayal at the confession. “There was nothing I could do to stop him, but I did witness the game with Saintcrow.”
The reminder that Mainwaring was just as addicted to the tables as her father was came as a timely warning lest she succumb to the new amity between them.
“And you didn’t think to tell me this morning before I took them to the park?” she demanded.
“I assumed your father would let you know,” he said calmly. “Of course I know now that was wishful thinking at best.”
“Yes, well, I’ve come to expect such things from my father,” she said bitterly. “But I had hoped that my friends would act with my best interests in mind.”
“I didn’t realize they were your only coaching pair, Lady Hermione,” he said with what seemed like sincere remorse. “If I had I might have acted differently. I knew of course that you would be upset at their loss, but I thought at the very least you’d be able to drive another pair for your first outing with the Lords of Anarchy.”
“You were against me joining a driving club at all,” she reminded him, recalling just how he’d opposed the notion when they’d first met. “I had thought you’d changed your mind, but now I begin to wonder.”
He stepped closer, and she was reminded of how much taller than her he was. This close she could smell the scent of his cologne and something else that was peculiar to him alone.
“It’s been a long time since I felt you should be excluded from the membership of the competitive driving clubs,” he said softly. “I admire you for your determination. And I truly did not refrain from informing you about your father’s loss last evening in order to ruin your first outing with the Lords of Anarchy.”
She lowered her lashes in the face of his intense gaze. Despite her misgivings about his gambling, she was beginning to find him irresistibly attractive. Something she needed to fight against if she wished to avoid the sort of life she now lived with her father.
“I suppose it’s not your fault that my father chose to wager with my horses,” she said finally. “He has been doing things like this for years now. Likely long before you or I were even born.”
“It’s an unpleasant situation,” Mainwaring finally said, stepping back a little. As if he sensed her inner turmoil. “But it might be possible to convince Saintcrow to drop his claim on them, if it can be proved you were the true owner and not your father. Do you perhaps have the original paperwork from when your man of business purchased them?”
“I do,” Hermione said, grateful for his interest, though not sure that it would help. “I will ask Mr. Wingate to send it round. But speaking of my horses…”
Quickly, she related what the groom had told her about Fleetwood’s strange appearance in the Upperton mews.
If anything, Mainwaring looked more troubled. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about this,” he said, his blue eyes intense. “Now, I am going to ask you to do something for me. And you are quite likely to tell me to go hang.”
Since she was not known for her reticence when it came to speaking her mind, she did not dispute his assessment.
“Do not have anything else to do with Fleetwood,” Mainwaring warned. “Or his sister. If she even exists.”
“Why wouldn’t she exist?” Hermione asked, momentarily diverted by the idea. “It’s hardly the sort of thing he’d choose to make up.”
“I didn’t say it was the truth,” he explained, “just a possibility. There is definitely something havey-cavey about the fellow. I cannot tell you what precisely, but please trust me in this.”
Just then, a female cry sounded from the direction of the Fleetwood house.
“That was not the sound of a ghost,” Hermione said firmly, her gaze on the wall separating her own garden from her neighbor’s. “It was a human woman. And if there is something I can do to help, then surely I must do it. If it is Mr. Fleetwood’s sister, then she doesn’t necessarily know anything about his oddities.”
But rather than offer a similar condolence for Fleetwood’s sister, Mainwaring’s generous mouth tightened. “No! You must promise me that you will not venture next door again, Hermione. I must have your word.”
She was very tempted to do as he’d said before and tell him to go hang—especially at his demanding tone. Who was he to tell her what to do, after all?
And yet, there had been something about Mr. Fleetwood that set her nerves on edge—especially considering what Jameson had said about him. So, staying away from the man was not something she found particularly bothersome. Yes, she did have sympathy for the woman—whoever she might be—who lived in the house, but she was not so deaf to her own instincts that she’d ignore them to put herself in danger.
“Fine,” she said with what she hoped sounded like grudging acceptance. It would not do for Mainwaring to take it into his head that he had the power to stop her from doing whatever she wished.
“I realize it goes against your very nature to consider something that I might say to be remotely worthy of notice,” he said with obvious relief, “but pray believe me when I say that I have very good reasons for wishing you to leave both Mr. Fleetwood and his sister—mythological or otherwise—alone.”
“You didn’t just happen upon me in Fleetwood’s back garden, did you?” she asked suspiciously.
“I did not,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if he very suddenly felt a sharp pain there. “But I can tell you no more than that.”
Noting the tension in his angelic features, Hermione considered, for perhaps the first time, that there might be more to Mainwaring than she’d originally thought. Despite his demurral, she wanted to ask him more about the reasons behind his warning. Not only because it seemed possible that there was a connection between her mysterious neighbor and Lord Saintcrow, but also because it promised to offer her a diversion from her current woes.
But in the face of his obvious reluctance, she did not press him.