Barbara Metzger (22 page)

Dimm removed his spectacles to wipe them, while he wiped his hopes of any remuneration. “Finding Miss Partland is no problem, ma’am, but getting her to leave Town might be.”

“Humph. Not with what I’m prepared to pay, sirrah, unless the gel is a total moron, besides a trollop. That’s what I’m hiring you for, to make the bargain and make the arrangements. You’ll get your reward when I know that... that hell-born bawd is on a boat somewhere.”

Dimm eyed the nearest chair, then he eyed the decorated dust-ball snarling at him. He stayed put. “His lordship might have something to say about that.”

Lady Bellamy snorted again. “Lord Chase? Faugh, he’ll find another mistress as soon as there’s a new cast of opera dancers.” Bellamy always did. “And if rumors are to be believed, he already has another demirep in keeping.”

“Well, there’s rumors and there’s rumors.”

She brushed that aside. “I never believed that old bibble-babble. Fine figure of a man, the viscount is, despite the limp. Makes those gabble-grinders look no-account with this latest brouhaha. Two mistresses indeed.” Not even Bellamy was so profligate; he’d likely have heart failure if he tried. “No matter. Chase will be glad to be spared the expense of this second bit of fluff. Costly creatures, kept women.” Bellamy’s must be, the way he always cried poverty when his wife wanted a new gown.

“I don’t figure that’s how his lordship’s looking at it.” Or liking his Miss Kitty mentioned in the same breath as chorus girls and courtesans.

Lady Bellamy wasn’t listening. “Oh, my sister was such a willful chit. See what comes of not listening to those who know best? Papa found her a perfectly acceptable baron’s son, but no, she had to have Partland. Bad blood will out, I say. Not that there was anything wrong with his family. I’m not a snob, of course.”

“Of course,” Dimm muttered.

“They were poor, however, poor and undistinguished. Not nearly a proper match for one of Lord Fowler’s daughters. You can rest assured that my girls won’t have the opportunity to make such a misalliance. I’ll see they don’t even meet any undesirables, once this little contretemps is cleared up.”

Chancing the dog and the grande dame’s displeasure, Dimm sat down. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but mayhap there’s another way of looking at the situation, one that won’t be so costly either.”

Her ears pricked up at that, he noted. So did the dog’s. “Yes?”

“Well, ‘pears to me your own gals’ chances might improve, having a viscountess for a cousin.”

“How droll.” She tittered. “My good man, the chances are better of your finding my diamonds than of Courtney Choate, Viscount Chase and heir to His Grace, the Duke of Caswell, marrying my niece. Perhaps you are unaware, but men of his caliber do not wed their mistresses.”

Dimm was aware of that rug-rat showing its teeth. “That’s right, they don’t, not in the ordinary course of things, anyways. But his lordship don’t seem to be your ordinary sort. Now, I’m likely wasting my breath, but I don’t think Miss Partland is his mistress.” He held up a hand to stop her objections. “I know it looks like she’s his light-o’-love, like he meant it to seem. He’s playing some deep game, what can only work in your favor, iffen you play your cards right. Believe what you will, but the fact is that the same gentleman what won’t introduce his bit o’ muslin to his mother, well, he won’t ruin a good girl’s reputation without making it right, neither.”

“What are you saying, that my niece was an innocent until Lord Chase compromised her past redemption?”

“Not past redemption, ma’am, for seems to me the quickest way to restore a black rep is with a gold ring.”

The smelling salts hit the floor, where the dog took one whiff and ran yipping from the room. “You actually think he’ll marry her?”

Dimm actually thought Lord Chase was the worst bobbing-block to put on breeches, but he said, “I really think he’s an honorable bloke. If he sees she’s from a good family what’s ready to help her regain her place with the Quality, then his sense of duty won’t let him do anything else.”

“He was an officer,” Lady Bellamy reflected. “A hero.”

“And he’s rich as Croesus.”

That convinced her. “I’ll consider your suggestion, Mr. Dimm, once I’ve seen for myself if she’s at all acceptable. I won’t try to foist soiled goods off on society, for it cannot be done.”

‘Twere done all the time, from what Dimm gathered of the polite world, but he’d won his point, and a cup of tea while waiting for her ladyship to change for a visit to Mrs. Dawson’s. Lady Bellamy still wasn’t taking any chances with having her wayward niece brought here to Belgrave Square. She wasn’t taking her crested carriage into that middle-class neighborhood either. And, she made it plain, she wasn’t paying the investigator a single shilling until she smelled the orange blossoms in the church.

* * * *

The rabbit fur lining her cloak was nice; the silver lining in this cloud of calamity was nice; the underlining in Kathlyn’s book of sonnets was nicest yet. In that bare little room, with only a thin door and an ambitious extortion scheme separating her from cutpurses, killers, and kidnappers, Miss Partland finally figured out who had marked her book.

Poor Mr. Miner must have known he’d never make it back to Cheshire to retrieve the pilfered jewels, for he’d underlined the last words of the line “No longer mourn for me when I am dead.” He then decided to reward the only person who was kind to him, marking the thirtieth sonnet: “For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings.”

He knew Kathlyn would never keep stolen property, hence his hint about a reward coming her way, and he must have suspected her possessions would be searched, therefore using the faintest of markings while she and the other passengers were at supper in the inn, or that longer time when everyone but Mr. Miner left the coach to help free it from the snowbank.

At first it appeared he also feared she was dull-witted, for he underlined all three “summers” in “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.” But Kathlyn was from Cheshire, she knew the crossroads that divided Upper, Lower, and Old Summerfield. Kathlyn flipped through the pages, searching. “Forty winters,” “lofty trees I see barren of leaves,” “the little Love-god lying once asleep.” All of the information must be there, but in no particular order, as Mr. Miner flipped through the pages. Forty paces from the signpost? Forty meters facing the trees? She couldn’t find the way to the statue of Cupid! Oh, if only she had a pen and paper, she could figure it out!

Then Kathlyn remembered where she was. Oh dear. Perhaps it was a good thing she didn’t have a pencil after all. Starting at the slender volume’s beginning again, she tried memorizing each of the underlined clues, but she was too excited, and it really would be much easier if she were right there, finding the landmarks. Maybe his lordship would take her, she daydreamed instead. She’d give him half the reward money to repay him for her gowns and such. Why, she’d be freezing to death right now if not for the mantle he’d insisted she purchase. Then again, she wouldn’t be here at all if not for his money. Once more reminded of her current predicament, Kathlyn decided to give the viscount the entire reward, for paying her ransom.

Of course, if he didn’t come, she’d have to use the book and its messages as a negotiating chip for her freedom, which was not an appealing thought. Her new acquaintances did not appear the sort to be trusted to uphold their share of any bargain. Most crucial of all, she decided, was keeping her information and excitement hidden from the gang members. She turned back to the sonnets, the unmarked sonnets.

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note;

But ‘tis my heart that loves what they despise,

Who, in despite of view, is pleas’d to dote.

Well, he was toplofty and arrogant, but Kathlyn couldn’t think of a thing she’d change in the viscount, much less despise. The pride was part and parcel of who he was, what he was. As for her eyes, or her memory, Kathlyn couldn’t recollect a single defect. Master Shakespeare’s poor ladylove must have been an antidote.

Your love and pity doth the impression fillWhich vulgar scandal stamp’d upon my brow;

For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow?

How true, that Kathlyn did not care nearly so much about the gossip and her loss of reputation now that Courtney seemed fonder of her.

You are my all-the-world....

Ah, no wonder the Bard lived on, when he spoke such truth. Nothing mattered, not pride nor possessions, nothing except Courtney’s love. And getting out of here.

Ursula brought her supper, a chicken leg and half a raspberry tart from the picnic basket, and agreed to bring her another candle. “Why not? We’ll have the ready for a whole chandelier soon, all crystal prisms and gold chain. So what’s that you’re reading, ducks?”

It was all Kathlyn could do not to jump up and stuff the book under the mattress. Instead she held it out so Ursula could see the tooled cover. “Shakespeare’s sonnets. Do you know them?”

“No, but my Harry did.”

He certainly did. “A big reader, was he?”

“No, but he started out as an actor. He could recite whole scenes. Never made much sense, but he could spout them off like a regular jaw-me-dead.”

“Would you like me to read aloud?” Kathlyn didn’t want the other woman getting any ideas about borrowing the book. She needn’t have worried.

“Too dry for me, ducks. I like a good farce now and again, and that’s the extent of it.”

She turned to leave, but Kathlyn asked, “Did you, ah, send the note to Lord Chase?”

“All right and tight. Sean’s finding a boy to deliver it to that Choate House right now. You’ll be out of here before the cat can lick its ear.”

“But we were going to Richmond today. He may already have left.”

Ursula shrugged. “We was going to send it to your love nest in Kensington, but that Runner chap is always hanging around.”

“It’s not my—” Then Kathlyn remembered Mr. Dimm. He’d keep Courtney from doing anything rash, thank goodness.

“It’s not much of a place, now that I come to think on it. He could do a lot better by you, ducks. In fact, let me give you some advice for when this is over, ‘cause I’ve been there. Start hinting for some jewelry. I noticed you didn’t sport any at the Argyle Rooms, nor at Epsom, and now neither.” Ursula didn’t seem to admire Kathlyn’s mulberry merino gown either, with its filled-in neckline. “Your gent might be a nip-farthing, but if you ask now while he’s a-panting after you, he’ll come through. And make sure he doesn’t try to turn you up sweet with any trumpery beads. Diamonds is what you want. They’re better’n money in the bank. You listen to me, a girl has to look out for her future.”

“Ah, thank you. I’ll try to remember. And speaking of the future, what if his lordship proves to be miserly indeed and refuses to ransom a mere acquaint—mistress? I mean, we haven’t known each other very long, and he is a high stickler.”

Ursula hunched her shoulders again, lowering her neckline by another indecent inch or two. “Well, we’ve got to get some cash for our efforts, ducks. I suppose we’ll have to sell you to a brothel.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“May the sun shine on you, good sir,” the flower girl said when Courtney bought her last four bouquets of violets.

“Oh, it is, sweetheart, it is.” Clouds were pushing across the sky, the temperature was hovering just above freezing—but they’d have their picnic. Yes, the sun was shining on the viscount today.

He was going to put his luck to the test again this afternoon, out in the country, out of the public eye. Kathlyn was a country girl, after all. He’d show her he enjoyed the simple pleasures in life, too. This time she’d accept, he just knew it. Courtney could feel it in her smiles, in the tremble of her hand lingering in his when he helped her out of the carriage yesterday. His plan was working: she was coming to like him.

He didn’t think he was rushing his fences; he didn’t think he could wait another day, not with Meg up and about. His precious ninny was liable to take the notion that she was unnecessary, that she should move out of Nanny’s again. Unnecessary? Hah! Lord Chase meant to see that the only place she moved to was into his house.

Laughing at himself for behaving like a child who couldn’t wait for Christmas, Courtney counted the hours until he could fetch Kathlyn, drive to Richmond, and lose Meg’s children in the maze. He’d have to bribe young Philip to stay lost an extra half hour. Just a few hours more, he told himself, right after he saw his man of affairs, who should have had time enough now to arrange the purchase of a special license.

First the viscount found a boy to carry one of the posies back to Choate House, with instructions to see it delivered to his mother. Courtney felt guilty about not discussing his plans with her, but she’d been so ill since her trip from Bath, keeping to her rooms, that he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Better he present her with a fait accompli anyway. She’d love Kathlyn, how could she not?

His mother would be devastated that there would be no huge wedding at St. George’s, but Courtney wasn’t waiting, not for gowns and guest lists. He’d waited his whole life. Every extra day was torture.

As soon as he had that special license in his hands, and Kathlyn’s acceptance, they’d be wed. Perhaps as early as tomorrow, he decided, definitely before another sennight had passed. Hell, another sennight would likely see him frothing at the mouth. He only hoped Kathlyn wouldn’t be as disappointed as his mother about having a small, private ceremony. He’d make it up to her, though, Courtney vowed, making sure her wedding bed was a bed of roses. No, rose petals. And he’d buy her the most beautiful wedding gown in creation, in about a year or two, when he got tired of looking at her body.

They’d honeymoon at his hunting box in Ireland, after a stop at Caswell Hall to introduce the new viscountess to the head of the family. His Grace would forgive the havey-cavey courtship, Courtney prayed, once he saw Kathlyn and the beautiful grandchildren she could give him. And if, by chance, Grandfather would not accept a tutor’s daughter as the mother to his heirs, well, they’d just stay on in Ireland. What could be lovelier than Ireland in the spring, all blue sky and green grass? Courtney had a handsome income of his own and couldn’t be disinherited from the succession or the entailments, but Lord Caswell’s blessing would be gratifying, especially after all the nagging he’d done about Courtney getting legshackled.