The Curious Rogue (11 page)

Cavilon, she mused. Even he had moved her, if only for a moment on the eve just past. Was there something wrong with her that her heart could be tugged about?

You cannot despise a man and love him, she admonished.

You cannot love a man you know nothing about, her subconscious responded.

Elizabeth sighed heavily. Her only hope was that Cavilon would reconsider and find her unattractive, if not distasteful, when viewed as a prospective bride.

Rising, Elizabeth began to walk. Her thoughts dwelt on what she might do to dissuade the comte without severely embarrassing her uncle.

When something solid brushed against the back of her skirt, Elizabeth spun around. Looking down, she saw one of the largest, woolliest dogs she had ever seen.

He sat down and whined imploringly.

“Why, are you hungry?” she asked.

Two loud barks answered her question.

She reached out and patted his grey coat, sending up a puff of dust to the air. “Where is your master?” Elizabeth glanced about but could see no one paying any attention to the beast.

“I suppose I could buy you a loaf,” she mused, and began walking towards the street where vendors hawked wares of every conceivable sort. Buying bread, she tore a piece from it and tossed it to the dog.

The animal which had stayed a short distance from the vendor’s cart now bounded forward to catch the bread. He swallowed the piece in one gulp.

“My, you are hungry,” Elizabeth laughed, tossing another hunk. Walking slowly, she turned back towards the centre of the park. The dog ran ahead her, circled her, and paused to bow to her every few paces and beg another piece.

Comte de Cavilon spied Elizabeth at the vendor’s cart and ordered his coach to halt. He smiled as he watched her play with the huge dog. With a command for his coachman to wait, he stepped down and slowly gyrated towards her.

Tossing the last piece of bread, Elizabeth laughed as the dog still pranced about her barking. “That is all there is,” she told him, holding out her empty hands as proof.

A sharp gasp replaced the laughter when the beast gave a low growl. Suddenly he leapt at her but, instead of attacking, sank his teeth into her reticule, which hung from her wrist by two cords. A tug of war ensued.

“Let go of it,” Elizabeth commanded, but was unsuccessful in tugging it free. The large dog shook its head, threw her off balance, and came away with the reticule in its jaws. It bounded towards a clump of shrubbery in the distance.

When Cavilon saw the dog lunge, he, too, thought the beast meant to attack Elizabeth. Dropping all affectation, the comte sprinted towards her. When the dog loped off with the reticule dangling in its jaw, he realized what was happening and slowed his steps. He could only chuckle when Elizabeth gave chase.

The dog disappeared into the shrubbery. Miss Jeffries entered on its heels. Shouts and cries as well as vociferous barking bespoke an encounter involving more than the young woman and the animal.

Easing his way through the shrubs, Cavilon released a bark of laughter at the scene before him.

The dog’s master, a young lad of ten or eleven, had been snared by Elizabeth. She was attempting to regain possession of her reticule while the dog nipped at her ankles and pawed at her skirt. In desperation she pushed the lad to the ground and sat upon him. The huge woolly dog jumped astride Elizabeth, effectively pinning her to the ground.

“Get off me,” the lad complained. “Ye be crushin’ the very life from me.”

“Order your beast from my back,” Elizabeth retorted angrily. “And let go of my reticule. What do you mean by sending this monster against poor defenceless women?” she demanded, twisting about and trying to push the dog off.

The huge beast yawned, ignored her efforts, and laid its head upon its gigantic paws.

Ceasing the struggle for a moment, Elizabeth looked straight ahead and saw an immaculate pair of white silk hose. Her eyes travelled up sky-blue satin breeches.

“Sir, please remove this animal...” She stopped speaking as soon as she recognized the comte. My lord Cavilon,” she murmured with sinking heart.

“La, my dear.” He daubed at his forehead with his kerchief. “I am quite fatigued by the walk. I do seem to encounter you in the most unusual places and in the most extraordinary poses.”

“Would you please find someone who would be able to help me? These are a pair of thieves.” Elizabeth tried to control the anger welling within her.

“Rather,
ma petite
, I would say they have you,” Cavilon returned with a flutter of his hand at her predicament.

“When I am free,” Elizabeth threw daggers with her eyes, “you had best be gone. Never depend upon a Frenchman for aid,” she gritted through her clenched teeth.

The comte ignored her and spoke to the lad. “Your beast is well trained?”

“His name be Barney,” the boy snorted.

“He will do whatever you command him,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“This,” Cavilon tossed a guinea in the air and caught it, is yours if he removes himself from the
mademoiselle
.”

“Up, Barney,” the boy commanded. The dog rose and stepped to one side. Yawning widely, it sat down on the grass.

“Ma petite
does not yet obey my commands so well.” The comte tapped his cheek contemplatively. “But I believe she will rise if you surrender the reticule.”

The boy did so grudgingly.

Elizabeth rose to her knees, keeping one hand on the boy’s arm.

“Ye said she’d let me be,” the lad complained.

“Non,
I said she does not yet obey me.” Cavilon shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you wish the boy taken to Newgate?” he asked Elizabeth.

“Newgate? But there are many vile men there—thieves and murderers,” she said, struggling to her feet, a glowering look on her features when Cavilon failed to assist her. “Thank you,” she said sarcastically as she brushed at her skirt.

“But I could not soil my gloves,” Cavilon protested innocently. “As for the lad, he is also a thief.”

“Where are your parents?” Elizabeth questioned the ragged lad.

“Me be an orphan. But Barney takes good care o’ me. We eats well, we do,” he assured her.

Her resolve to see him punished began to melt beneath his large blue-eyed gaze. “What is your name?”

“Tom. It’s all I’m known as,” he shrugged.

“And no one has ever looked after you?”

“Me told ye, Barney does,” Tom protested.

“You live by stealing,” she condemned.

“‘Tis common, Miss Jeffries,” the comte interrupted. “There are many such as this in London. Would you have them starve? Prison will be best for the lad.”

“I do not need your suggestions, my lord,” she snapped.

“Ah, my dear, but I do think you need my assistance. What will your aunt and uncle say if you walk through the streets of London looking as you now do?”

Elizabeth took in her stained and torn gown. With a silent curse acknowledged him correct.

“I will have one of my footmen take the boy away,” he told her.

“What of me Barney?” Tom wailed.

“Hush,” Elizabeth commanded. “You are both coming home with me.”

Cavilon arched his brow.

“Have your coach brought forward,” she ordered.

“Only because I am a gentleman.” He bowed elaborately and minced back through the shrubs.

“Coo, me ain’t never seen none the likes o’ him,” Tom told her as they waited. “Ain’t he pretty, mum?”

“To some, I suppose,” Elizabeth snapped, and pulled the lad after her.

Signalling the footman to open the coach door, Cavilon stood to one side as Elizabeth prodded Tom inside and then was assisted by the footman. Barney, seeing his master disappear in front of the young woman, plunged into the coach just as Elizabeth stepped up. She was pushed aside as the dog clambered onto the seat beside Tom.

Picking herself up, she decided it would be easier to sit across from the pair after all. She slid over to make room when Cavilon gingerly joined them.

“The coach will have to be entirely redone,” he sniffed, raising his kerchief to his nose to cover the odour from the pair opposite. “I see marriage with you shall be quite… expensive,
ma petite
... but vastly interesting.”

* * * *

A storm erupted when the foursome entered Lady Waddington’s home a short while later. The unfortunate mistress of the house was preparing to depart when they entered. She was promptly knocked down by Barney’s exuberant greeting.

Her shrieks brought Sir Henry and the servants running to the scene. Sheer pandemonium broke loose when the footmen chased Tom, who in turn were pursued by Barney.

Cavilon deftly drew Elizabeth from the midst of the fray. Raising her band to his lips, he brushed it with a kiss. “I shall take my leave
ma chère petite
... until a more appropriate time.

“With your delicate sensibilities—for your uncle has assured me they are most properly delicate—you will require some time to recover from these,” his hand encompassed the mad scene before them, “exuberances. I shall call to take you riding tomorrow afternoon. We must, after all, begin our courtship.”

A teasing twinkle appeared in his eye and was gone just as quickly. Before she could prevent it, he leaned forward and kissed her, then fluttered and pranced away, leaving her looking after him in confusion.

“Elizabeth!”

Sir Henry’s roar broke through the spell that held her. Dashing into the fray, she intercepted Tom and was again felled by Barney.

“Take that... that beast to the mews,” Sir Henry commanded a footman who was struggling to keep a hold on the huge dog.

“Tell Barney to go with them,” Elizabeth told Tom. “It will be all right.”

“Go on, Barney,” the lad said sorrowfully.

“Take the boy to the kitchen and have him scrubbed,” Sir Henry continued his orders.

“Madeline, you can stop that confounded fainting. The beast is gone.

“Elizabeth, to your room at once. When you have repaired your appearance, you will come to my office and explain.”

“Yes, Uncle,” she said and hurried up the stairs.

* * * *

“I will check with the authorities,” Sir Henry told Elizabeth at the conclusion of her explanation. “If the boy is indeed an orphan, a place shall be found for him at my home in Ashford.”

“And Barney... the dog?” she added.

“The beast can come, but only if it is well controlled,” her uncle grudgingly granted.

“Oh, thank you. I am certain Tom can do that.” Elizabeth rose with a grateful smile.

“We are not finished, miss.” Sir Henry pointed for her to retake her seat. “I am certain that your description of the encounter with the lad and his dog has been altered somewhat in the telling to put everyone in the best light possible. The condition of your toilet upon your return, however, I feel is ample proof of what must have occurred.” Her objection was rendered useless.

“What concerns me is that you made no mention of Comte
de Cavilon assisting you, other than to convey you and your acquisitions home. Am I correct in assuming that he was present when the animal stole your reticule?”

“But I did not say that Barney...”

“I know London’s ways, my girl. The folderol you told me about the boy makes a good story, but that is not my worry at the present moment. Simply answer the question,” he told her curtly.

Elizabeth slowly nodded.

“And Lord Cavilon did nothing to seize the lad?” Sir Henry continued his questioning.

“The comte did...” Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain of her uncle’s intent, and discovered that she had no wish to have Cavilon appear negligent in the matter.

“Well?” her uncle prompted.

“He paid the lad to... to come along with me,” she finished weakly.

“And yet you permitted him to kiss you? Yes, my dear, I saw that. I am not blinded by old age yet.

“I take it then, that despite all you have said, you have consented to wed him?”

“Comte
de Cavilon and I did not discuss marriage,” she answered. A sinking feeling vied with the realization that she had forgotten momentarily that Cavilon was French. “If we had, I would not have accepted him,” she finished irresolutely.

“And yet you allowed him to kiss you?” Sir Henry snorted. “With all the servants as witness.”

“Considering Barney’s presence, I hardly think they were watching, Uncle,” Elizabeth tried to joke.

“This will not do at all.”

“But I—”

“Silence. I must think.” Sir Henry rose and paced back and forth, his features becoming sterner with each step. It was one thing to wed Elizabeth to a foppish man, quite another to wed her to a womanly coward who would not protect her from a thieving lad. Cavilon, for all his wealth, could only he a scoundrel to let a beast such as Barney accost his future wife and lift no finger to help her. It was a base man who would not aid a genteel woman and yet took personal liberties with her. His thoughts came hard and fast.

The comte may be wealthy, but there are fates worse than poverty, Sir Henry concluded, and marriage to that effeminate coward would be the worst for a proud young woman like his niece.

“I want you to go and pack, Elizabeth,” Sir Henry announced. “Madeline shall go with you to Ashford. You may take the lad—what was his name... Tom. You will depart in the morn.

“There will be no marriage between you and Comte
de Cavilon. It would be best if you were gone from London for a time in the event the man proves difficult in the matter. Mayhaps we can return in the fall.”

“As you wish, Uncle Henry.” Elizabeth rose and walked slowly to the door. Looking back she asked, “Will you come with us?”

“I must call on the comte and tell him of the refusal. There is also the matter of the lad, which I will see to personally. Then I shall join you.”

“Thank you... for taking Tom,” she murmured, and left, quietly closing the door behind her. She knew her heart should be singing for joy, her freedom from marriage to Cavilon a fact.

That was what you wished,
she told herself. Why then, Elizabeth pondered, did she feel this peculiar emptiness? Why did she wish to cry more than laugh?

Chapter Twelve