Autumn Glory and Other Stories (11 page)

The new wardrobe Nancy was helping the maids unpack was a start. Au courant and elegantly copied straight from the latest fashion journals under Lady Mildred’s supervision, the gowns were a showcase for Miss Hope Thurstfield’s wealth and beauty and ladylike bearing.

Mrs. Storke dropped a pair of matching slippers and rushed to Hope’s side near the window. “Oh, my lands and larks! You’ll never believe what one of the girls just told me, my dear. There have been robberies, right here in the hotel! Valuables have been stolen right out of guests’ rooms.”

Hope scooped up her dog, ready to stuff Trumpet back in his satchel.

“Not that kind of valuable,” Nancy chided. “Jewels and watches and cash!”

Hope glanced at the carved wood jewel box sitting in plain sight on the dressing table in her new bedroom. She planned on selling the contents if she could not find Sir Malcolm, to finance a fall Season in Town. Surely one of her mother’s old friends would be willing to sponsor her, if Lady Mildred did not recover in time. With the jewels, Hope could take time to select a husband of her own, someone she could respect, if not love. With the jewels, she would not come empty-handed to her marriage even if her father disowned her or denied her dowry if he did not like her choice. She could not, under any conditions, afford to lose those jewels.

“The hotel must have a safe,” she declared, stuffing her rings and necklaces and brooches into an empty embroidered reticule. She left out the pearls she intended to wear for dinner and a simple gold locket for the next day, before going to seek out that nice Mr. Arthur. No, Nancy did not need to run up and down all those stairs with her. What could happen in the halls of this magnificent establishment?

Captain Hunter called “Enter” when he heard the light tap on his door. Supposing his visitor to be Simmons, needing to use his desk, or his batman Browne returned from his errands at the haberdashers, Arthur did not bother putting down the bottle he was currently emptying. Still holding the bottle, he jumped to his feet when he saw Miss Thurstfield at the door instead. He winced, that she should see him like this, and from the pain the sudden movement caused his leg. “Yes, miss? What can I do for you?” he asked more brusquely than he intended.

Hope was staring at the bottle, rather than the tousled blond waves of his hair or the sleepy look to his blue eyes. “You’re drinking, on duty?”

“My leg was hurting me.” Now it hurt worse, thanks to this beautiful, bespoken female.

“But such a thing could cost you your job.” No one she knew would keep on a servitor who imbibed, especially not in a position of such authority.

“No chance of my being dismissed, I assure you.” He did put the bottle down and straighten his waistcoat.

She was still uncertain. “Your employers must be very understanding.”

“What, to hire a cripple?” he bristled.

“No, to permit drinking on the job.”

“I am not in my cups, dash it, so you can remove
that scowl and the sermon. Ah, your pardon for speak
ing familiarily, miss.” Damn, now he was sounding like that addlepate George. “You wished to see me about something? If you had rung, one of the staff could have taken care of your problem, I am sure.”

“Since one of the staff is possibly the culprit, that would not have been wise.”

Culprit? What, did one of the footmen ogle her? It was Miss Thurstfield’s own fault for being so deuced pretty. Arthur found himself staring, if not precisely ogling. One of those brown curls was caressing her cheek, nearly touching her mouth. He almost reached out to brush it aside. “I am afraid you’ll have to be a bit more explicit, Miss Thurstfield.”

“The robberies, Mr. Arthur. I have come about the robberies.” At his continued blank look, she went on: “There is no need to pretend, sir, to protect the hotel’s reputation. All of the maids know things have gone missing recently.”

“They have? That is, we have an investigation going on at this very minute. I am certain you have nothing to fear.”

She plunked the embroidered reticule on Simmons’s desk. “I am not so certain. I very much fear for the safety of my jewelry and wish it locked in the hotel’s safe.”

“The safe?”

“Surely the hotel has a safe for the day’s receipts and the patrons’ valuables. Even posting houses sometimes offer such a precaution.”

Surely the hotel did boast a safe, but deuce take it if Arthur knew where it was or how to get into it. Now was the time to confess his imposture, but hell, she had a fiancé; he could have some fun. “Sorry, but only the night manager has the combination.”

“That’s ridiculous. What if I want to wear a ring in the morning?”

He shrugged. “It’s a new hotel, you know. All of the difficulties have not been worked out.”

“I
see
what
it is. They have not trusted you with the information.” She eyed the bottle he’d placed on the desk.

He might not be a hotel manager, but he was no sot either, by George. “The head manager trusts me implicitly. Why, he lets me sleep in his room. It’s just that I have not been here long enough to learn all the ins and outs of the hotel. Luckily I did know about the special reserved suite. I trust the rooms met with your satisfaction?”

Reminded of what she owed this man, who was like
no other employee she had ever encountered, Hope smiled. “Everything is perfect, thank you, especially the view.”

And the view from Arthur’s eyes was perfect, too. That smile was worth all the faradiddles he was telling, even if his soul were sentenced to purgatory. “I’ll take charge of your treasures, then, and hand them over to Simmons myself. And I promise to watch him put them in the safe. If you come to me whenever you wish to remove a bit of jewelry, I’ll make sure Simmons is available.”

“Excellent, Mr. Arthur. Now here is a list of the pieces. Do you want to go over it, to familiarize yourself with the contents? You will be responsible for them, after all.”

He had absolutely no desire to view her hoard of gems, of course, especially not when they might have come from the bastard she was betrothed to. On the other hand, he didn’t want her to leave, so he nodded and swept his hand across the desk, clearing it of Simmons’s notes and papers.

Hope poured the expensive jewelry out of the pouch, and ticked each item off her list as she showed it to Mr. Arthur, who was standing quite close to her in order to see better. She could smell his lemon and spice cologne and see the fine gold hairs on the backs of his hands. “My, it is growing warm today, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” he agreed, inches away from nibbling on
a dainty earlobe. He hadn’t seen one necklace or ring,
only her silken cheeks and long brown lashes.

“That’s the lot, then,” Hope said with a sigh, stuffing her fortune and her future back into the reticule. She handed the drawstring pouch and the list over to Mr. Arthur. “I suppose I should have a receipt, you know.”

“A receipt?” His mind was benumbed by her—and by the half-empty brandy bottle.

“Yes, something back from you.”

“You want something in return?”

“Yes.”

So he gave her a kiss.

4

No spitting, fisticuffs, or rowdy behavior.

Whap!

Arthur deserved the slap, of course, had been expecting it, in fact, but who would have thought this delicate flower of femininity had a roundhouse swing? He staggered back, but his bad leg gave way and he collapsed onto his back. Fine, he thought as he waited for the room to stop spinning, now he was a clumsy jackass as well as a lecher. What in the world possessed him to kiss Miss Thurstfield? Only a world of desire that grew every time he saw the woman. But he was no libertine, and she was no doxy to be mauled about. She was a lady, and an affianced one at that. Her blasted betrothed had every right to call him out. Thunderation, if she were not already engaged to be wed, he’d owe her an honorable offer. All he could offer now was his sincerest apologies, although he did not regret the kiss for an instant. “I am ashamed, Miss Thurstfield,” he told her, still prone, looking up into her concerned eyes. “Perhaps I did have too much to drink after all. For my leg, don’t you know,” he hastened to add. “I swear such a thing will never occur again, gentleman’s honor.”

But he wasn’t a gentleman, Hope thought. He was a jumped-up clerk, taking liberties not even Sir Malcolm had dared. The nerve of the scoundrel! The magic of his lips on hers! Why, she hadn’t even struggled when he kissed her, hadn’t so much as taken a step backward. In fact, Hope very much feared she’d put her own arm around the cad’s neck. She knew
for sure that she’d stared at him, dumbfounded or
moonstruck, for ages before recalling that her virtue had just been assaulted. That’s when she finally got around to slapping him. Angry at herself for not resisting the handsome rogue, she had swung with all her might, toppling poor Mr. Arthur. Good grief, she’d struck a crippled person! “I am so sorry, Mr. Arthur. I didn’t know my own strength. Here, let me help you up.”

“No, I can manage, thank you.” He wasn’t in his dotage yet, by Jupiter. “If you could just hand me my cane, I would be grateful.”

Hope found a walking stick leaning against the desk and put it in his hand, then turned her back so she would not witness Mr. Arthur struggle to his feet. Bad enough she had to see the red imprint of her hand on his cheek when he finally stood and scrawled his initials on her jewelry inventory list. “There, now you have a receipt. If you think you can trust me, that is.” Hope was not sure. There was definitely something peculiar about Mr. Arthur, and the expensive, ornately carved lion’s-head cane was merely one more discordant note. On the other hand, he obviously had a position of trust at the hotel, so her jewels ought to be safe, if her person was not. At least she was certain he was not the thief, for Mr. Arthur could never manage to sneak into the guests’ chambers, even if he could climb the flights of stairs. “I would rather see my belongings placed in the safe myself, naturally, but I suppose I can trust you to see them there.”

Trust him? The general had trusted him to carry battle plans for the entire Peninsular Campaign, by Zeus. And this milk-and-water country miss deigned to put her trinkets in his keeping? Arthur supposed he deserved that, too. He’d told Miss Thurstfield one rapper after another, masquerading as a caper merchant, and then pressed his unwelcome attentions upon her. In the back of his mind was the niggling notion that perhaps she had enjoyed those attentions, just a tad. Now was the time to confess his deceit, but how could he ever excuse such perfidy? She would despise him for sure, if she did not already, and that he could not bear.

Moving toward the door as if to say the disastrous interview was over, the captain nodded to acknowledge her tepid endorsement. “Your jewels will be safe, never fear. Now you are free to enjoy your visit in London without worry.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I shall. Good day, Mr. Arthur.”

“Good day, Miss Thurstfield,” he said as he bowed her out of the room. “It was a very nice kiss.”

Certain that her cheeks were flaming, Hope hurried across the lobby toward the stairs. Very nice, indeed!

“Did that charming Mr. Arthur take your jewelry away, then?” Nancy asked when Hope arrived, out of breath and out of countenance, back in their rooms.

Nancy would not think so highly of the villain if she knew what else he’d taken, but Hope just nodded, then suggested they go for a stroll in the nearby park. She understood that the Polite World went on the promenade in the late afternoons, so perhaps Sir Malcolm was among them. Or they could go shopping at the Bond Street stores Lady Mildred had recommended, and possibly catch a glimpse of him heading toward his club. Barring such a fortuitous meeting, Hope planned to ask whatever hackney drivers they employed if one of them knew Sir Malcolm’s direction. In her admittedly small experience, jarveys knew everyone’s coming and going.

No one knew of Sir Malcolm Fredenham’s. One driver thought he’d picked up a toff by that name, but he’d only driven the swell from the theater to the Coconut Tree, or vice versa. Or mayhaps it was the Daffy Club, and a nob named Windenham.

In her naiveté, Hope did not think that any of the shopkeepers could help her, for she was patronizing milliners and modistes. Not a male was in sight, although one young seamstress did giggle about the gentlemen getting the bills. Husbands, Miss Thurstfield trusted, and Sir Malcolm was certainly not among their number.

They did not encounter him in the park either. Truthfully, Hope was wishing to come upon an acquaintance of her parents that she might recognize from their visits to the Lake District. Any member of the
ton
would know the baronet, and where to find him. But the park was thin of company. Either the Polite World had gone to their country estates, forgoing the victory celebrations, or they were in another area of the vast park, for Hope saw no one she could call upon. Nancy was upset with the men they did encounter, leering coxcombs who tried to scrape up an introduction to her little lamb, and she fended them off with her frowns. Trumpet was the only one who enjoyed the outing, barking at the squirrels and the ducks and the children and the flower-sellers crying their wares. Trumpet barked a lot. Developing a headache, Hope was glad enough to heed Nancy’s advice to return to the hotel for a rest before dinner. Who knew? Perhaps she would recognize someone in the dining room.