“How could you, Uncle?”
Mr. Beasdale merely harumphed into his second serving of tea.
“Not only were you discourteous to a guest in your house,” Jenna went on, “but you insulted a gentleman who might have saved my life. The officer at Bow Street said that thief was a dangerous criminal.”
“He’s poor,” said the banker, reaching for another macaroon.
“Of course he is. Wealthy men do not steal ladies’ purses.”
“Not the thief. Standish.”
“So what?” Jenna asked, moving the plate farther from her uncle’s reach, for the sake of his waistline. “You and my mother were poor once. You always told me how your father started life as a free trader.”
“He’s a nob.”
“Pooh. A mere baronet. My grandfather was an earl.”
Beasdale’s snort said what he thought about that, and about all titled gentlemen in general. “Like half of the swells, this one is in debt. He owes the bank more than he’s worth.”
A frown formed on Jenna’s forehead. “Was he the one who took out the loans?”
“No.”
“Has he defaulted on his payments?”
“No, dash it. Am I to be interrogated in my own home, besides starved?”
Jenna placed one slice of lemon cake on his plate, a small slice. “I have one more question. Although Sir Adam seems to be a brave, kind, honorable gentleman, you will still refuse him permission to call?”
Put like that, Beasdale had no good answer. He set his plate aside, his stomach roiling. “I only want the best for you, my dear.”
“What if I consider him the best, the finest gentleman I have ever met? What if he is what I want?”
“Faugh. It is too soon for you to know. He’ll be leaving soon, anyway, back to his goats and hens.”
“Sheep and cows, Uncle, and a few hogs. And perhaps he will not leave town so shortly. I invited him to the dinner for Lord and Lady Iverson Friday.”
“Where he’ll fit right in with those other useless swells, all puffed up with their own consequence.”
“Sir Adam is not like that, and you are sounding like a French revolutionary. Besides, he might not attend. He did not exactly accept my invitation.”
“Good. I think I will have that piece of cake after all.”
“Will you be polite to him if he does come?”
Whatever Beasdale muttered was lost in the sounds of swallowing. Jenna persisted: “You would not be so selfish, would you, to deny me the opportunity to get to know such a pleasant gentleman simply because he does not suit your notions of an eligible parti?”
“Since you have invited him already, what would be the use? Perhaps it’s for the best. Once you get to know the chap you’ll see that you two won’t suit at all.”
She smiled, a soft, private smile that quite ruined Beasdale’s digestion for good. He groaned. “Devil take it, poppet, I only want your happiness. You would not be content in the country, minding those ducks and geese.”
“Sheep and cows, Uncle. But are you saying that if, by some chance, which is far too early to consider”—although she had, of course; her blushes gave her away—“I did marry Sir Adam, you would not invite me to visit here?”
“Do not be foolish, girl. I am not like that idiot earl who disowned your father. You will always be welcome in my home, no matter whom you marry.”
Jenna stood up and bent to kiss her uncle’s cheek. She drew back when he added, “Of course, I’d be more welcoming if you were to wed Leonard Frye, the new junior partner. He comes from a powerful investment family. He is prudent and polished and knows what is proper.”
“Mr. Frye is also a prig.” Jenna called for Hobart to take the tea cart away. “I’d sooner wed one of Sir Adam’s hogs.”
“Harumph.”
Adam, meanwhile, was walking back to his inn, thinking of the visit. Beasdale was as stiff-rumped as ever, but his niece was even more of a delight than Adam had thought possible. Her conversation, her wit, her humor, all entranced him deeper than her physical beauty ever could. The only thing he did not like about Miss Relaford, in fact, was that she was so far above him. Granddaughter to an earl, by George. Niece to a nabob, botheration. No amount of wishing was going to make him worthy of such a prize. Blast it.
What made Adam feel worse was that he’d never really considered marriage before. He always knew he could not afford a wife, and he was too practical a fellow to hunger for what he could not have—or at least he had been before this trip to London.
Thinking of hunger made him stop to buy a hot meat pie, since the few bites he’d taken at Beasdale’s house were not nearly enough to satisfy his appetite. Neither, now, was the mere glimpse of heaven enough to satisfy his yearning.
He wanted a life companion, someone to share his thoughts, share his woes, and share his successes, besides sharing his bed. He wanted a friend, but one who would give him unquestioned, unconditional love. He wished he could find someone who believed he was worthy of being loved in return, despite all his faults and failings.
He did. A small dog followed him and his dripping meat pie back to the inn.
“ ’Ere now, I don’t allow no dogs in my inn.”
Adam looked down, surprised to see the dirty brown mongrel was still at his side. “He’s not my dog. He just followed me for a taste of my meal.”
The innkeeper frowned at the small dog in disgust. “And next ’e’ll be beggin’ from the customers. ’Arry,” he called to one of the ostlers, “come get another cur for drownin’.”
“Drowning?” Adam echoed, looking at the animal, which was shivering with the cold, but which wagged his tail.
“Right. Else the blighter’ll be gettin’ in the way of the horses, or stealin’ food from the kitchens, or chasin’ the chickens m’wife keeps out back. For sure ’e’ll bring fleas in with ’im, was I to let you take ’im to your room.”
He’d drown the dog because the creature was hungry and lonely and cold? Hell, Adam was hungry, lonely, and cold, too. No one was going to drown him, or his new dog. “I’ll be leaving then, and taking him with me.”
The innkeeper shrugged. He already had Adam’s money for the room. Now he could rent it out again.
And now Adam had no place to sleep, with darkness falling. He had a ragged dog, too, which meant the hotels he knew would not accept his custom either, had he wished to spend another part of his purse on a room. He also had his lucky coin, though, for all the good it had done him. He might as well wish for a featherbed and silk sheets!
As he left the courtyard of the inn, picking his way between carriages and horses and hurrying grooms, he picked up the dog. The innkeeper was right, the poor little fellow might have been trampled. What were a few more mud stains on his coat anyway? No one would care, back at Standings. And there were worse things than flea bites, although Adam could not think of many offhand.
He could feel bones through the matted fur and promised the dog another meal soon, and a bath. The pup licked his cheek as Adam negotiated the inn yard, satchel in one hand, dog in the other. “I just wish I had somewhere to take you.”
Then a handsome phaeton raced into the yard, splashing more mud on Adam and the dog. A scarlet-coated officer leaped down and tossed the reins to one of the grooms who came running. The driver shouted “Sorry” toward Adam and strode for the taproom. He turned back. “Standish? Is that you, man?”
“Johnny Cresswell? Good grief, how long has it been? And you are still as cow-handed as ever!”
“But a lieutenant now, I’ll have you know!”
With bear hugs and back slaps, the two old schoolmates exchanged welcomes, while the dog danced at their feet, barking. Adam led his two companions to a quieter corner. “Are you on leave? How long will you be in town? How are your parents?”
“Not precisely on leave,” the lieutenant answered, “for I took a ball in the shoulder.” Seeing Adam’s look of concern, he added, “I am fully recovered, but the War Office is keeping me here until I am needed for courier duty. The parents are well, the last I heard, but the roads to Yorkshire are already near impassable, more’s the pity, so I will not be going home for the holidays. And you, what brings you away from your country fastness?”
“Business,” was all Adam said. “I leave tomorrow.”
“Well, you’ll stay with me at Cresswell House tonight, of course.”
“I could not . . .”
“What, you’d leave me to rattle around the mausoleum of a town house by myself with nothing but servants for company? Don’t be a nodcock. Besides, there’s to be a party for Iverson on Friday. You’ll have to stay for that. He’ll be pleased as punch to see you there. Did you hear old Ivy put on leg shackles?”
“Yes, I was actually invited to the party.” Adam bent, pretending to brush dirt off the dog. “I did not bring my formal clothes.” He did not say he did not own anything fitting for Miss Relaford’s gathering, nor that he could not spend the money on useless fripperies. “No time to have something made up.”
Cresswell waved that aside. “We’re of a size, and all my formal wear is stowed in the attic. If something needs altering, my batman is a wizard with a needle. I, of course, shall wear my dress uniform. Impresses the ladies, don’t you know.”
Johnny was already handsome, with blond hair and blue eyes and a raffish, dimpled smile. The tavern girls had always looked at him first, until they heard Ivy’s title. They barely noticed Adam, even then. Now, with Ivy taken and Johnny in his dress uniform, dripping gilt and ribbons . . . Adam’s heart sank to his shabby boots. “Miss Relaford?”
Cresswell nodded. “Met her at the wedding. A regular Incomparable.”
“Yes, I thought so, too.”
The lieutenant looked more closely at his friend, hearing the plaintive note. “Ah, sits the wind in that quarter, then?”
“The wind does not sit at all. It blew straight past me, on Beasdale’s breath.”
“Well, if it is any consolation to you, he’d never let the fair maid go off to follow the drum with a mere lieutenant either. But cheer up, old man, who knows what other well-dowered daughters will be at the party? Ivy found a pretty one, with no trace of her father’s coal mines in her manners.”
“You don’t mean to tell me Iverson wed an heiress simply for her father’s money, do you? I knew he was punting on Tick, but . . .”
“Hell, no. Miss Applegate’s a beauty, too, and likes horses as much as Ivy does. He fell arsy-varsy over the girl.” Cresswell shook his head. “I never would have believed it possible myself.”
Adam believed it.
“Well, come on then,” the lieutenant said, “let’s be off. I am sharp-set, and Cook will be thrilled to have another mouth to feed.”
Adam looked down. “What about the dog? He seems to be mine now.”
“Bring him along, of course. He looks like he could use a decent meal even more than we can. Have you given him a name?”
“Lucky,” Adam decided on the instant. What else?