The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (30 page)

The door to Mrs. Featherhaugh’s discreet house in Folkestone opened and the heavily built butler glared at Stephen and Brayleigh. After a moment, recognition crossed his face, and he arranged his features into what might have been a smile.

“Good evening, Mr. Delaney, it’s a pleasure to see you here again,” he said, holding the door wide.

The two gentlemen entered. “I’ve brought my good friend Lord Brayleigh tonight, Grigs. I’m sure Mrs. Featherhaugh will be glad to have him join her party.”

Grigs looked Brayleigh over with a knowing eye, and, clearly judging him to be both well bred and well breeched enough to please his employer, bowed low. Brayleigh handed him his hat, and looked around the hall as the butler left to fetch his mistress.

“This seems like a genteel enough place, Del,” he observed.

“Mrs. Featherhaugh is not of the highest
ton
,” Stephen answered with a little laugh in his voice. “But the play is deep and reasonably honest, and her table and cellar are well stocked. It’s the best place in the area for gentlemen to enjoy an evening on what passes for the town.”

As he spoke, Mrs. Featherhaugh made her appearance, lending credence to Stephen’s assessment. She wore a gown of red silk, cut low to ensure the gentlemen could appreciate her fine bosom. Its little cap sleeves were pushed well off her shoulders and trimmed above and below with black lace ornamented with silver spangles. The bodice was trimmed with the same, and more spangles clung to the black velvet ribbon that marked the gown’s high waist, while the black lace made an encore appearance in a band of trim quite eight inches high at the hem. Several waving plumes topped an elaborate headdress, in which a silver laurel wreath and a red silk cap competed for attention. The final detail was a red fan with ebony sticks that dangled from her wrist. Brayleigh gazed at this ensemble in awe, and then bowed over her outstretched hand, as Stephen presented him to her.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” he murmured.

Mrs. Featherhaugh tapped his arm with her fan as he rose. “So you’re the legendary collector, are you? Surely I recall seeing you in Brussels before Waterloo, trying to obtain a painting of some naked lady bathers?”

Brayleigh hid a cringe at hearing his beautiful Boucher masterpiece described as merely a picture of unclothed women. “You have an excellent memory ma’am. I was indeed able to secure a work of art during that time.”

“It serves me well,” she assured him. “I never forget a face. I hear you are no longer in the market to collect women. Such a pity, though I suppose your wife is very happy. Dear Wroxton seems to have mended his ways as well, which is a shame. You should have seen him cutting a dash in Vienna ten years ago. Instructing at the riding school during the day he was, but I give you my word, you’d never have known it to see him dancing with the ladies at the balls in the evening.”

Brayleigh’s face grew, if possible, even blander as he listened to this, while Delaney looked as though he might burst into guffaws at any moment. Mercifully, their hostess appeared to recall that she would make no money with them lingering in the hall. “Come up to the salon, gentlemen,” she urged. “We have any game you like. There’s wine on the sideboard and supper downstairs.”

Inside the gaming salon, Stephen and Brayleigh paused for a moment, taking in the scene.

“At least Denby is not here,” said Stephen with relief. “I have no doubt he knows the local riding officers by sight, and would be very curious to see us talking to him.”

“I can only hope our luck continues to hold,” said Alaric. “At the tables and otherwise. Though doubtless some of the men here are in league with him. We must not draw attention to ourselves.

They moved to the hazard table, more interested in waiting for the riding officer than risking vast sums at faro. Stephen poured them each a glass of wine and they joined in the game with feigned enthusiasm. Eventually a fair young man appeared in the door of the salon, looking uncomfortable in what appeared to be very new evening clothes. Alaric glanced at him sharply and then caught Stephen’s eye. As they hesitated, Mrs. Featherhaugh floated over to them.

“How are you gentlemen faring tonight?” she asked jovially.

“Very well,” answered Stephen politely. “The wine is excellent, Mrs. Featherhaugh.”

She laughed. “It does no good to stint on such things, and the more my guests drink, the more they spend.”

A man across the table rolled a main, and under the hubbub of conversation, Mrs. Featherhaugh moved a step closer. “That is Lieutenant Smithton,” she said under her breath. “I will let him know to join you.”

Alaric nodded politely, and threw the dice, his face carefully blank. Stephen affected a yawn, and stepped back from the table.

“My luck is out, Brayleigh,” he announced. “I’ve a mind to try my hand at faro. Do you join me?”

“No, thank you, Del. I find that I do very well here.”

Stephen nodded, and strolled across the room. As he departed, Lieutenant Smithton slipped into his place next to Brayleigh. Alaric acknowledged him with a cold nod, and continued to play. When another burst of conversation broke out, he turned slightly toward his neighbor.

“Mr. Delaney and I will go downstairs to the supper room,” he said under his breath. “In five minutes, pretend you must relieve yourself, but go out the back through the servant’s door. We will do likewise and meet you there.” He pushed away from the table, swept up the coins piled before him, and left.

Brayleigh stopped at the faro table and glanced over Stephen’s shoulder. “You are unlikely to succeed with that hand, Del,” he said pleasantly. “Shall we dine?”

“Certainly,” replied Stephen, tossing down his cards and standing. “Mrs. Featherhaugh will regret my absence, however, as I’ve had a shocking run of luck.” He fell into step beside Brayleigh.

“We are to meet Smithton in the garden shortly,” murmured Alaric as the two men walked down the stairs.

Stephen nodded his understanding, and they walked past the supper room, instead slipping through a door that led down the servants’ stairs. A few minutes later they emerged into the dim light of the kitchen garden, where the riding officer awaited them.

“You must be Lieutenant Smithton,” Alaric said. “I am Brayleigh, and this is Lord Wroxton’s friend, Mr. Delaney.”

“Lieutenant John Smithton, at your service,” the young man said punctiliously. “What is it you need to discuss in such secrecy?”

“Conversations with excisemen are viewed in a dim light by both the Gentlemen and the locals, as you are aware, and while we wish to render you some assistance, we are not eager to have it get about.”

“Don’t I know it,” Smithton exclaimed with a note of bitterness in his voice. “There isn’t a soul in this county that will tell us the truth, and most of my men are fearful of having their throats slit in their beds.”

“Well, the excise taxes are very unpopular, and the free trade generates a great deal of money for some folk,” Stephen said reasonably. “You can hardly expect them to welcome the intrusion.”

“True enough, but the ‘Gentlemen’ also have crimes to their name, and looking the other way at burning cottages and encouraging the worst kind of criminals, while trying to mislead His Majesty’s service--” Smithton’s voice trailed off.

“Precisely,” Brayleigh said in a bored tone. “Now, let us waste no more time, and turn our attention to those matters we can control rather than those we cannot.” He took a pinch of snuff. “Two nights hence, at the dark of the moon, Lord Wroxton will hold a grand ball. He has invited guests from London as well as all the local nobility and gentry. We have reason to believe that a load of casks now lying in a cave near the coast on Wroxton’s land will be moved across his property on the way to the Ashford Road and thence to London. We have located a spot from which we can be certain to see the pony train pass, and will shadow it to the road where the goods will be transferred to wagons for transport to London. We want you and your troop to be there to trap them.”

The stuffy riding officer was instantly transformed to an enthusiastic young man. “By Jove, my lord,” he declared enthusiastically. “That would be wonderful beyond anything.”

Brayleigh eyed him silently. “Quite so. Now, we have been out here long enough, and I am concerned that the absence of all three of us may be noticed. Mr. Delaney and I will go up to the supper room and eat, and you will return to the tables. You know the date of our plan, and will visit this house again tomorrow. Mrs. Featherhaugh will then ensure that you receive further information on how to proceed. You will memorize these communications and burn any written instructions. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes my lord,” Smithton replied. “I look forward to stopping this gang, and ah, promoting the Earl’s interests.”

“Indeed, Lieutenant,” Brayleigh responded and turned away to reenter the house.

Later, as the two men returned to Wroxton Hall, the carriage rocking under the starlit sky, and the sound of the horses’ hooves muffling their voices, Stephen bent an inquiring look on Alaric. “You were very hard on that lad, Brayleigh.”

“I suppose so,” Alaric answered. “While I recognize that the free traders are a source of much mischief, I don’t like the excise taxes or stiff-rumped riding officers any better. But they must be forced to stop traveling across Wroxton and Keighley lands, or Lady Brayleigh will allow me no peace. It is a great trial to have a wife who cares so much for her brother.”

Stephen smiled in the darkness, but kept his silence.

Helena mounted the steps of Wroxton Hall nervously. She had had no word from Malcolm in the past two days, outside of a note thanking her for her assistance with the ball and indicating that she was always a welcome visitor. She had considered it from every angle, but it gave up no clues. She had resolutely stayed away until this morning, but, as the ball was tonight, she could no longer shirk her duties. It would be unkind to allow the servants to bear all the burden of the work, and she had her pride as well. Everyone knew she had planned this entertainment, so it was necessary that it go off without a hitch.

Catherwood greeted her at the front door with a welcoming smile. “Thank you for coming so early, Miss Keighley,” he said. “Mrs. Macomber will be pleased to have you here, particularly as they are to come this morning with the flowers and other decorations for the Green Salon, and she is uncertain exactly what is to be done.”

Helena nodded. “That is why I arrived so early, Catherwood. Mrs. Macomber and I discussed our plans for the decorations with Lord Wroxton, but I hardly think he will remember the details.”

“Indeed not, Miss. However, his lordship has been down to the cellars with me, and I can promise that the wines at dinner and the champagne for the supper table will be the finest.”

Helena chuckled. “I have no doubt of that whatsoever. I will go to the salon now and make sure I know exactly where everything is to go before the workmen arrive. Where is Mrs. Macomber?”

“Awaiting you in the Green Salon,” replied Catherwood.

Helena walked across the hall as the Greek and Roman statuary collected by earlier Arlingbys gazed down on her from their embrasures. Light streamed through the Palladian windows set high in the walls, and she made a mental note to be sure the workers remembered the floral arrangements that were to go at the bottom of the stairs and the hanging flowers that were to drop from the railing of the gallery.

She stepped into the Green Salon and looked about. The staff had clearly been busy over the previous days, for the room had been emptied of furniture. The parquet floors had been chalked with representations of flowers to prevent the dancers slipping, the windows sparkled, sunlight passing through the crystals in the grand chandeliers scattered little rainbows of light on the floor, and the gilt wall sconces around the room were dust free and gleamed with polishing.

She turned with a smile when Mrs. Macomber joined her. “The room looks perfect!”

“We haven’t entertained at Wroxton Hall in over ten years, Miss Keighley,” the housekeeper answered. “It’s no wonder that a good cleaning made a difference. I had to bring in a few extra girls from the village to clean the chandelier, but I think it will do his lordship proud tonight.”

“I’m sure it will, Mrs. Macomber,” came a deep voice from the door. Malcolm sauntered over to the two women and smiled at the housekeeper, before turning to Helena. At the sight of the old day dress of sturdy cotton twill she had chosen to wear, its former bright green faded to the point of indeterminacy, and the rather shapeless cap she had jammed over her auburn locks, his eyebrows rose. “My dear Miss Keighley, I’m sure that the footmen will be happy to provide the heavy labor today. There’s no need to come here to assist dressed as though you were planning to spend the morning cleaning the stables.”

Helena grew pink. “Sometimes it is easier to move a floral arrangement or the wooden backing oneself when trying to get arrangements ‘just so’,” she snapped.

“I’m sure that’s true,” he said, “But I would prefer you to - ” His voice died away as he realized that there was really no way for him to end his sentence without providing Mrs. Macomber with fuel for gossip.

Helena was already uncomfortably aware that Malcolm was dressed exactly as a nobleman should be to receive visitors from London at his country seat, in a well cut black riding coat, a pale yellow waistcoat, and breeches of a similar hue. His riding boots shone with a gloss that his valet had perfected over years of study, and she noted with irritation that his cravat was tied in a perfect mailcoach knot.