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Authors: Joan Smith

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Kissing Cousins

BOOK: Kissing Cousins
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KISSING COUSINS

 

Joan Smith

 

Chapter One

 

Miss Oakleigh peered from the window of a small flat on Upper Grosvenor Square to the road below. The solitude of an afternoon in late May was undisturbed by so much as a pedestrian. Sunlight cast its beam indifferently on the tall elms waving gently in the breeze, on the façades of yellow brick houses, and the cobbled street.

Her companion, Miss Donaldson, peered up from her embroidery and said, for perhaps the tenth time that afternoon,

Any sign of him yet, Samantha?


No,

Miss Oakleigh replied in a weary voice. A frown puckered her brow as she paced to and fro in the small saloon.

And no reply to my notes. He can

t be at Wanda

s house.

Glancing at her niece, whom she had known for half of her own forty-four years, Miss Donaldson felt she was looking at a stranger. It was not the frown puckering Samantha

s brow or the shadow in her blue eyes that caused this sensation. The blue mulled muslin gown was perfectly familiar. She had known it when it was still an ell on the shelf in Mr. Muldoon

s drapery shop in Milford. The gown was a month old and had been seen many times. It looked well on Samantha

s tall, elegant form.

Miss Donaldson decided it was the tousle of blond curls where one was accustomed to seeing a subdued wave pulled back from the brow that changed her niece

s appearance so startlingly. It robbed the girl of her native elegance and left in its place a saucy, hoydenish air.


What should we do, Auntie?

Samantha asked in a voice edged with fear.

It is unlike Darren to shab off without telling us. He knows we were to leave for Wiltshire today. We sent off all the servants except Mary. You don

t think it has come to a runaway match with Wanda? There would be no need for that.


I hope not,

Miss Donaldson said with a tsk of dismay.

She

s a decade too old for him.


That is half her charm. And she

s so very pretty, with that glossy black hair.


Fine as a star. She bowled the lad over entirely, but Miss Burridge, next door, says the woman is nothing else but a lightskirt.

If respectability determined the weight of the skirt, Miss Donaldson

s gown would weigh a ton. She was an austere-looking spinster wearing a cap with a blue ribbon, which provided the only touch of color to an otherwise gray ensemble. Her modest gown was of dove gray sarsenet, her hair and even her eyes were gray.


I wonder if she is right,

Samantha said.

Miss Burridge also said the postman stole her letter, and the butcher added the weight of his thumb to the scales. I always felt Wanda was very free in her manner, but as this was my first trip to London, I made sure it was only my provincial eye that detected a hint of scarlet.


I told you any female who lets herself be picked up at Vauxhall is no lady.


I was with Darren that evening. There was nothing improper in it. Wanda got separated from her friends, and that hedgebird
was
pestering her. I saw it myself.


Hedgebirds don

t pester respectable ladies. I knew what she was up to when she told us that cock-and-bull story about being afraid her cousin would force her to marry him. She was angling for an invitation to Drumquin, and failing that, she has talked that ninnyhammer of a Darren into some compromising situation in hopes he'll offer for her. How can Sir Geoffrey Bayne be trying to force her into marriage? Miss Burridge told me last night he is a married man. Her son-in-law knows him and his wife.


I have no doubt Miss Burridge

s son-in-law knows a Mr. Bayne, but who is to say it is Sir Geoffrey?


She said he knows Sir Geoffrey Bayne. I cannot think there are two gentlemen called Sir Geoffrey Bayne, even in London. Wanda Claridge is nothing else but his bit o

muslin. A lightskirt preying on country bumpkins! If Darren has married her, he is ruined. And no man will take a second look at
you
either, my girl.


I don

t care a fig for that. Where can he be? Darren took every penny from the sugar bowl and has been gone since eight o

clock last night.

Samantha went once again to the window and glanced out. A gasp of alarm caught in her throat.

Miss Donaldson hastened to the window to see what had caused it. She saw a fat little man in a broad-brimmed white hat, a blue jacket, and kerseymere breeches pelting toward the door. The figure was more comical than frightening.

Who is he?

she asked.


It

s Mr. Townsend, the Bow Street officer. Wanda pointed him out to me on Bond Street the day she helped me buy that bonnet. He

s coming
here!


It may be one of the neighbors he

s calling on. That Mr. Halpenny is a suspicious-looking fellow.


But if he does come here, what shall we do?


Do what I

ve been telling you to do all along. Call on Cousin Edward and ask his advice.

There was no time for that, however. When the loud knock came at the door thirty seconds later, Samantha

s cheeks blanched to white. Her knees were trembling so hard, she could hardly move to open the door.

Mr. Townsend stepped in, introduced himself, and asked the ladies their names.

I have a warrant for the arrest of Darren G. Oakleigh on a charge of theft,

he announced, flourishing an official-looking piece of paper.


What

what is he supposed to have stolen?

Samantha asked in a quavering voice.

Miss Donaldson was beyond words. She fanned herself vigorously and placed a bony hand on her heart to still its thumping.


One thousand pounds. The charge is being pressed by Sir Geoffrey Bayne against a Miss Wanda Claridge and Mr. Oakleigh. The money was taken from the safe of the love nest Sir Geoffrey hired for Miss Claridge. The servants tell me Mr. Oakleigh forced the safe and ran off with Miss Claridge last evening. Sir Geoffrey didn

t learn of it until he returned unexpectedly from the country and called on his
ch
è
re amie
this morning. Is Mr. Oakleigh at home, ma

am?

Samantha shook her head in bewilderment.

He hasn

t been home since yesterday afternoon,

she said in a weak voice.


You realize it is a criminal offense to harbor a thief, ma

am?


Take a look about if you wish. He

s not here.

Mr. Townsend availed himself of the invitation. He strode through the little apartment, peering under beds and into clothespresses until he was satisfied that the girl was telling the truth. His practiced eye had the place pegged within a minute. It was obviously the domicile of respectable ladies in straitened circumstances. The few good pieces of furniture spoke of past grandeur, but the faded elegance had not been refurbished in a decade. Before leaving, he asked a great many questions which the ladies answered truthfully. Mr. Townsend could smell a lie a block away.

No, Mr. Oakleigh had no carriage with him except his traveling carriage, which was kept at the stable that went with the flat. Townsend had already been to the stable. The carriage and team of four had been taken out the evening before. This suggested that the culprits had left town.

Miss Donaldson had recovered her voice and explained,

We have no idea where they are, officer. We don

t live here. We are only on holiday. Miss Oakleigh

s aunt, Mrs. Talbot, is on vacation in the Lake District, and offered us her flat for a month

a little holiday for the youngsters. We were to leave for Wiltshire today.


Ye

ve never been to London before?

he asked Miss Oakleigh. She shook her head.

That would explain it,

he said.

Greenhorns,

he added to himself, then said aloud,

What was the relationship between Miss Claridge and Mr. Oakleigh?


Friends,

Samantha said grimly.

We thought she was our friend.


The sort of friend that makes an enemy unnecessary,

Townsend said with a shake of his grizzled head. "I

ll not pester you further, ladies. If the lad shows up, send him to Bow Street.

He adopted an avuncular tone and added, "I

ll not go hard on the boy. I know who is at the bottom of this mess of potage. It

s not the first time Miss Claridge, as she calls herself this month, has been in the suds.


This month!

Samantha exclaimed.

Who was she last month?


That I can

t tell you, but she was Nancy Hewitt a few years back, and Sally Bright before that. You don

t want to have much to do with the likes of her. Good day to ye.

He bowed and took his leave.

As soon as the ladies were alone, Samantha recovered her spirits. Anger put the color back in her cheeks and fire in her eyes.


I am going to Brighton and haul Darren back by the scruff of the neck,

she declared.

And I shall give Miss Wanda Claridge

as she calls herself this month

a piece of my mind as well.


Shocking!

Miss Donaldson said.

Why would she require so many names unless she is up to no good? I wonder what her real name is. Jane Shore, I shouldn

t wonder. You think they are at Brighton? I would have thought they

d head to Drumquin.


Wanda is forever talking up Brighton. If she had a thousand pounds in her pocket, that is where she would head. The ton is leaving London now that the Season is drawing to a close.


They might have headed to Gretna Green,

Miss Donaldson suggested with a worried glance.


If they

ve gone there, it

s too late to stop them. They left yesterday. I doubt it is marriage she has in her eye, Auntie. She knows we live quietly in the country, and planned to return there today. Wanda never spoke of anything but having a good time. And she had a key to Sir Geoffrey

s Brighton cottage. She had been there before. She spoke highly of it.


Surely if she robbed him, she wouldn

t have the gall to go there.


She

s brazen enough for anything. And she thinks Sir Geoffrey is still in the country, I expect. Townsend mentioned he returned unexpectedly. Though with the thousand pounds, she might be at a hotel. I

ll tell you one thing, she had a bathing costume made up last week, and she wouldn

t be needing that at Drumquin. I shall catch the next coach to Brighton. I shan

t ask you to go with me. You can stay here with Mary.


You can

t go alone on the common stage.

Miss Donaldson knew when her niece

s chin firmed in that mulish way she had that argument was pointless.


I

m two and twenty. I can look after myself. Besides, I haven

t enough money to hire a carriage and team and driver. I have only the bit I had in my reticule. Darren took everything else. One of us should be here to warn him of Townsend, in case he returns.

BOOK: Kissing Cousins
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