Art and Artifice (5 page)

“Then why did you send for a Bow Street
Runner?” Jamie asked, watching her.

She raised her chin. “Because we suspect him
of nefarious purpose,” she said. “Surely you could follow him
about, check into his background, unearth his secrets.”

Was this a game to them? Jamie closed his
notebook. “Taken him in dislike, have you?”

That pointed chin inched up another notch. “I
didn’t say that.”

He frowned. “So you prefer him, then?”

Her skin turned a furious red. “I never said
that either!”

“It seems there’s a great deal you’re not
saying, Lady Emily,” he replied, tucking away his pencil. “But
unless you have something of substance to report, I cannot help
you. Bow Street isn’t in the habit of following a fellow simply
because you neither like nor dislike him.”

“But Bow Street is renowned for its work,”
the golden-haired girl said, rising majestically and posing
prettily as if to make sure he’d taken note of her figure. She
batted liberally lashed eyes at him, pretty pink lips curling in a
pout. “Surely you can help us, Mr. Cropper.”

He imagined the fellows must drop at her feet
in adoration for such an impassioned look. He found he preferred
the more direct gaze coming from Lady Emily.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Miss,” he said,
“but you have to give me something to go on. I have my hands full
investigating real crimes.”

“He wants to marry me.” Lady Emily met his
gaze, her own once more defiant. “He seems rather passionate about
it.”

Something hot and hard pressed against his
heart, and he recognized his old foe, jealousy. “I suppose I should
congratulate you, then,” he said, though he knew he never
would.

“Please don’t,” she snapped. “Men like him
don’t wish to marry girls like me. He must be up to something.”

Did she consider herself beneath him? What
rot! He took a step closer, lowered his head to meet her gaze
straight on. “You’re mistaken, Lady Emily. A great many fellows
would line up to marry you. You needn’t settle for someone the
likes of Lord Robert Townsend.”

He could feel the other girls staring at him.
Indeed, he thought perhaps they were holding their breaths. All he
could see were those dark eyes, like mirrors gazing back at
him.

“Then you’ll learn his secrets?” she asked,
the slightest note of pleading in her voice. “You’ll stop him?”

Oh, he intended to stop the fellow, all
right. But his feud with Robert Townsend went far beyond a
misplaced betrothal.

Jamie straightened. “As I said, your
ladyship, unless you have a specific complaint to issue, I can’t
help you.”

She nodded, face pinched but color rising
once more. “Very well, then, Mr. Cropper. You leave me no choice
but to resolve the matter myself.”

“It appears we’re on our own,” Emily said as
Warburton ushered Mr. Cropper out. What a disappointment! Here she
found her mysterious stranger was none other than a Bow Street
Runner, and then he refused to help her! But if he was a Runner,
that pinnacle of the law, that bastion of truth, why had he wormed
his way into her home last night? Did he suspect her father of some
crime? Did he suspect her?

Ariadne gave a sharp nod. “Agreed. We will
simply have to investigate Lord Robert’s motives.”

Priscilla looked far more skeptical. “It
would certainly help if we knew why he was set on marrying you so
suddenly.”

“He has an evil reason,” Emily promised them
all. “Count on it.”

“Like what?” Daphne asked, obviously
fascinated.

“Who can say?” Emily said with a shrug.
“Perhaps he hopes to squander my dowry on fripperies.”

Ariadne stuck out her lower lip. “If I were
writing the scene, I’d say he’ll use your father’s consequence to
engage in some criminal activity–like smuggling young ladies of
good family to be sold in the slave markets of the Far East.”

Priscilla laughed. “Only you could come up
with such a tale.”

Ariadne smiled. “Why, thank you.”

“I need more than a story,” Emily told them.
“His Grace is ever practical. I need facts, proof, if I am to
persuade him to allow me to cry off from this betrothal.”

“With Lord Robert as your fiancé,” Daphne put in,
“you’ll be expected to spend time together. That should give you an
opportunity to learn his secrets.”

Priscilla shook her head. “But he intends to
marry her as soon as they sign the marriage agreement, by the sound
of it. We don’t have the luxury of a prolonged engagement.”

“I think,” Ariadne said with great feeling,
“that we should show Mr. Cropper that young ladies of fashion are
quite capable. I’ve read any number of stories in which the Bow
Street Runners question family, acquaintances, and servants.
They’ve been known to follow a criminal all over England to catch
him in the act. I daresay if we tried it, we’d have a better
picture of Lord Robert.” She glanced around as if expecting
censure.

Priscilla’s smile widened. “Brilliant.”

Daphne nodded. “I could not have devised a
better plan myself.”

Emily looked at her in surprise. “But surely
Lord Snedley would find it improper in the extreme.”

Daphne blinked. “Only if we are caught.”

“Which I do not intend to be,” Priscilla
said. “There’s scandal enough already.”

Emily felt for her. “You don’t have to be
involved, Pris. I have Father’s consequence to hide behind, and
Daphne and Ariadne have their mother’s renowned sense of decorum.
You do have the most to lose.”

Priscilla raised her chin. “Precisely. Which
is why I must go with you. We must save the Ball and your painting,
and if that means following Lord Robert Townsend from one gaming
hell and pleasure palace to another until we discover the nasty
fault that will undo him, then so be it!”

They all gathered around the tea table, and
Ariadne drew her journal from her reticule to draft a plan that
included interviewing Lord Robert’s friends, family, and servants,
as well as watching the man himself.

“I have read,” she said, as she wrote, “that
a gentleman is generally found during the day at his club.”

“But which club?” Priscilla replied. “My
father once belonged to White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodle’s, all at the
same time!”

Neither did they know Lord Robert’s
intimates. Which of the fine gentlemen strolling or riding past the
house, top hats dark in the sunlight, might be privy to his
secrets? They could hardly accost the fellows and ask!

In the end, they decided to divide and
conquer. Priscilla and Ariadne would ask Priscilla’s father if he
knew which clubs Lord Robert frequented, and Daphne and Emily would
attempt to lay siege to the Townsend townhouse. And that meant
Emily must involve her aunt.

She found the lady lounging by the fire in
her bedchamber, large feet propped up on a stool, body nestled in
an armchair, book open on her lap. Her room was decorated in
delicate rose and cream, gilded medallions like suns blazing from
the ceiling. She regarded Emily over her spectacles as Emily made
her prepared speech about wishing to call upon Lady Wakenoak.

“So you’ve decided to go along with this
betrothal,” her aunt surmised, closing her book. “I must say, you
seemed far more concerned about it yesterday.”

“I am still concerned,” Emily replied. “But I
would like to speak further with the family. I haven’t seen Lady
Wakenoak in some years, you know.”

“Just as you hadn’t seen your betrothed,”
Lady Minerva said, setting aside her book and gathering herself to
rise. “I understand he called. You didn’t bother to send for
me.”

Emily sighed. “Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne
were here. I meant no disrespect.”

“Not as much as you meant Lord Robert,” she
replied. “I hear you gave him quite the dressing down. If you
intend to get in a dust up with Lady Wakenoak, I shall not
countenance a meeting. My nerves simply won’t take it.”

Emily suspected that little would truly upset
her aunt, but she put on her best smile. “I promise to behave
suitably. May we please attempt a visit? Now?”

Lady Minerva waved a frail hand. “Give me a
moment. I left my spectacles somewhere.”

“On your nose?” Emily suggested with a
pointed look at the gold-rimmed glasses.

“No, not there,” her aunt said, glancing
around. “I shall find them shortly and meet you downstairs.”

Emily could only hope she was right. She felt
quite fortunate when her aunt joined her and Daphne at the foot of
the stairs less than a quarter hour later, bundled in a quilted
blue pelisse, a velvet-covered bonnet with a peacock feather
covering her gray curls. She accompanied them out to the waiting
carriage.

That, however, was the end of Emily’s good
fortune. Though it turned out Lord Robert lived only a short
distance away, in a tall, red brick townhouse with green shutters
on the multi-paned windows and a large park opposite in the center
of the square, he was not at home. Neither was his mother, Lady
Wakenoak, reported the wizened butler who accepted Lady Minerva’s
calling card at the door.

“It is the Season,” Daphne said with a sigh
as they returned to the carriage. “Lord Snedley says the truly
fashionable are never found at home unless suffering from bilious
gout or the need to hide from creditors.”

Emily frowned back at the green-lacquered
door emblazoned with a lion’s head. “I suppose some do shuttle from
pillar to post, but if Lady Wakenoak is so devastated by her
husband’s loss, why is she out making calls?”

“At the very least,” Lady Minerva said with a
superior sniff, “there should be a black wreath on the door to show
they are in mourning.”

“Lord Snedley advises at least a year for a
husband,” Daphne agreed, “more for someone you loved.”

Emily eyed her aunt. “Then shouldn’t Lord
Robert also be in mourning for his father? If Lady Wakenoak is
supposed to forgo Society, shouldn’t Lord Robert refrain from
marrying?”

“Very likely,” Aunt Minerva said, waving to
the groom, who hopped down to lower the step for her. “But it is up
to his family to determine his level of devotion to his father and
how he wishes it displayed.”

“What does the sainted Lord Snedley advise
for a son in mourning?” Emily whispered to Daphne as they waited
for her aunt to climb into the carriage.

“To spend his inheritance as soon as
possible,” Daphne replied cheerfully.

Well, that was no help. She had to find
another way to learn what Lord Robert was doing. London was so
large. How could they possibly trace his footsteps? She tapped the
toe of her half-boot against the pavement, gaze going to the park
in the center of the square. The leaves of the trees chattered in
the brisk breeze. Only a few people had braved the spring weather
to stroll. It wasn’t difficult to spot the young man, standing just
inside the path that led deeper into the green as if he had been
waiting for her. Though his cap was pulled down low over his face
and his coat hid his waistcoat, she knew those shoulders, that
confident stance. She didn’t dare make a move, lest he realize
she’d noticed.

“Daphne,” she whispered with the barest of
nods toward the park, “look there.”

Her friend followed her gaze. “The gentleman
standing in the Terpsichorean Slouch that Lord Snedley favors? He
is a fine fellow.” She stiffened. “Why, it’s Mr. Cropper!” Her look
met Emily’s in amazement. “Is he following you?”

Was he? What interest could she possibly have
to Bow Street? Unless the interest was on Mr. Cropper’s side.

She thought her face must be nearly as red as
his hair at the very thought.

The groom made a noise and opened the door
wider as if to remind them they were wanted inside. Aunt Minerva
was already nodding in her seat. Emily made up her mind and darted
behind the coach. Daphne dashed after her to pull her up short.

“You can’t go over there! You’re betrothed
and shouldn’t be seen with another man. Lord Snedley would be much
put out.”

“Would you rather go?” Emily challenged
her.

Daphne made a face. “Why do you all always ask me to
do such things?”

“You ride, you dance, you’re the Amazon of our set,”
Emily rattled off, watching James Cropper. Had he realized her
intent? Would he come forward? Retreat?

“I’ll have you know I am trying to be a lady,”
Daphne protested. “What gentleman wants to marry a girl with more
dash and skill than he has?”

Emily couldn’t wait for Daphne to make up her
mind. “There, he’s ducked deeper into the shadows. We’ll lose him!”
She pulled from Daphne’s grip and started across the street.

“Oh, very well,” Daphne muttered as she
caught up. “I’ll come along, but only to give you a proper
chaperon.”

They hurried across the tree-lined street.
Emily peered around the bushes at the edge of the park and over the
top of shrubs. Where had he gone? What was she to do, drag Daphne
through the undergrowth in search of him?

Daphne seemed to know what to do. Whether she
liked it or not, there was a reason the others relied on her for
such maneuvers. She linked arms with Emily and forced her to a
leisurely pace across the park. Her eyes were narrowed, gaze
darting about as if she could see through the greening shrubbery.
It was the same look Emily had seen when they had joined His Grace
for a fox hunt. Daphne had watched, carefully, from horseback as
the hounds coursed across the fields, like streams rushing in the
spring. The moment they all coalesced, catching the scent, she’d
taken off in pursuit.

“He’s just gone to ground,” Daphne whispered
to Emily now, as if James Cropper was the fox this time. “But we
shall catch him.”

“Do you see him?” Emily whispered back.

“Not at the moment . . . ah, yes! To your
right, behind that laurel shrub.”