The Fashionable Spy (9 page)

“How pleasant to see you ladies enjoying the pleasures of Town rather than being hard at your creating,” Mr. Padbury exclaimed as he bowed—mostly to Julia.

“Does Miss Elizabeth create as well?” a languid Lord Leighton inquired. His gaze roamed over Elizabeth, making it evident she was the person of interest for him. It was also obvious he was most curious about precisely what the gorgeous Elizabeth spent her time crafting.

Victoria had been studying her younger sister and the man who hovered close to her, a gentleman she knew little about. The looks between those two were far too conscious. “Elizabeth is quite skilled in engraving, sir. You must see her work sometime.” The glare from Elizabeth revealed little other than annoyance. Victoria politely turned to nod at Sir Edward. “Good evening.”

“Little did I suspect we would meet again so soon.” He chatted on about nothing in particular, giving Victoria the sense she was secure from any speculation by others. A man so polite could hardly provide fodder for gossips. And with the other two men in the box, it diluted his impact considerably. The episode of the knife-throwing and the sequestered interlude in the windmill began to fade into obscurity. At least she told herself that was the case.

When the interval ended, the men left. Elizabeth let out an explosive sigh. “I vow I was never so tempted to be rude to another in all my life. Victoria, if you love me, please say I need not see that man again.”

“You need not see that man again,” her sister obediently repeated with a gleam in her eyes. “Although why you should cold-shoulder a perfectly good viscount is more than I can see. He is a highly eligible catch.”

“That is what
you
think,” Elizabeth declared, but was barred further discussion when the curtains parted and the drama raged on through to its final act.

Following the conclusion, and before the farce—a silly production called
Raising the Wind,
one of James Kenny’s offerings—Elizabeth had a chance to explain what had occurred to anger her.

“I believe I ought to explain my remarks,” she began. When she finished, she darted glances from one sister to the other, waiting for their reactions.

“Ghastly,” Julia declared with firm control of her facial muscles. “To insist you drive out with him.”

“I had thought better of Lord Leighton,” Victoria admitted. “If he truly bothers you, my love, you have my permission to royally snub the man next time you see him.”

Elizabeth relaxed to enjoy the farce, declaring afterward, “I do so like it when the hero bests his rival
and
the heroine’s father. How lovely it would be to have someone so utterly devoted.”

“You did take note that this is a farce,” Victoria reminded. “I doubt if you see such devotion in real life.”

On this note of skepticism the young women quickly rose and slipped away before any of the gentlemen who had called earlier could realize they had disappeared.

* * * *

The next morning saw Victoria driving in an unsavory part of London that the members of the
ton
rarely, if ever, saw. She did not have to remind Sam to wait for her, for he wouldn’t have left to save his hide.

A footman walked at her side, but she actually felt perfectly safe with Sable joining her. She had been coming here for several years now, and had grown quite accustomed to the sounds and smells in the area. She entered the red-brick building, wrinkling her nose a trifle at the heat and odors stemming from the foundry. Her dog stayed close to her side, his watchful eyes noting everyone about.

“Mr. Greene,” Victoria said, as a rotund man emerged from a small room, “here I am with another head for you to cast.” She went over the details with him, then made an appointment to be present when the patina would be due for application. She always oversaw this important process, although she did not actually apply the acid herself. She usually preferred the end result for her sculpture to be a very dark brown, and wished to make certain that the color turned out precisely right.

From the foundry, she instructed Sam to take her to Bond Street. Settling back in her seat, she smiled to herself. What a vain creature she was becoming. First the new melon gown for the theater last evening and now a new hat to wear with the jade pelisse she had ordered.

At Madame Celeste’s, Victoria tried on the pelisse, pronouncing it perfect. Indeed it was, for it didn’t need another thing done to it. Then she walked two doors down and into the prettiest millinery shop in all of London. Here, as she had expected, she found the precise hat for the pelisse, and she admitted to herself that it was ideal for the occasion. It was a neat little hat of straw, lined with jade satin, and had a small jade ostrich feather curled over the brim to one side in a most fetching manner.

How silly to let the teasing from Julia gnaw at her, but the fact of the matter was, it did. Nothing had happened during that isolation in the little windmill. Nothing at all. She ought to have been relieved, glad that she could hold up her head proudly. Instead, she almost felt like stamping her foot in annoyance. He had ignored her, save for that one sketchy kiss, and that was so brief it hardly counted. Now, while she had not wanted seduction, it irked her that she was so easy to dismiss. Hence the flattering pelisse and the utterly dashing new hat.

She might find the man detestable, while fascinating in a curious way, yet she perversely decided he was not going to ignore her.

At the appointed time, she dressed in a citron mull gown trimmed with cream lace, and donned her jade ensemble with a great deal of satisfaction. The reflection in her cheval glass was most reassuring, and when the maid came to let her know her caller had arrived, she went down the stairs well-pleased with herself. Yet, as she tugged on her gloves, she confessed to a tinge of nervousness. To spy on a stranger while in his home was one thing, to snoop—for that is what it might be—on a man she was coming to know and somewhat respect was another.

Still, she had to admit to an insatiable curiosity about the man. All those many trips. Why were they made? Perhaps she might be able to lure some information from him, for her suspicions ran rampant. Not that she’d been asked to spy. No, her investigation was for herself.

“Good afternoon. Sir Edward. May I offer you refreshments? Or do you wish to depart directly?” Victoria paused after entering the drawing room. Sir Edward wore a corbeau tailcoat of impeccable cut and fit over pantaloons of palest dove gray. Polished Hessians, a cravat tied in a precise mathematical, and spotless gloves couldn’t help but bring approval. She smiled cautiously at him.

“We have much to accomplish this afternoon. Although I would enjoy another chat, we had best be on our way.” They strolled down the stairs and out to the street. He negotiated the steps carefully, but well, she observed.

Victoria climbed up into his barouche, reveling in the lovely padded seats and neat finish of the carriage. She gave him an approving look. “Very nice, sir.”

“A little easier for me than the phaeton I normally drive.” He gestured to his cane, placed conveniently along his leg.

“Would it be terribly improper to inquire how you were injured? Please ignore my question if it troubles you to answer,” Victoria said lightly. It was the first of her many questions that she intended to have answered directly by him. There was nothing like going right to the source for information. Sometimes one even heard the truth.

The curving brim of her new hat allowed her to glance sideways at the man beside her. They jounced along over the cobbled streets for a short distance in silence. She was afraid she had offended him by her inquiry, when at last he spoke.

Smoothing the fine leather of his gloves, he began, “Actually, it is rather amusing now, although perhaps embarrassing. You see, I had planned to go hunting. There was a great throng of my friends present and I was about to mount my horse when a sudden noise spooked him, throwing me quite violently to the ground at a very awkward angle. I broke my, er, leg.”

Victoria sensed he had been about to swear quite roundly at the abused leg. “I am sorry. Did this happen last autumn?” His answering murmur of assent solved one mystery, but she felt there was still more to the episode. Still, she shied away from probing if there was a painful memory involved.

“Well, I think it tragic that you have been severely injured in such a bizarre accident. However, it prevented you from dashing madly into the war. I worry about my brother over there, and your family must be greatly relieved to have you at home. At least it served some purpose.”

“You do not sigh over the heroes from the Peninsula? I can assure you they do not consider themselves such. I supposed all women saw them as larger-than-life idols.”

“Not all of us.” Victoria heard the bitterness in his voice and decided she didn’t want to dig into his past anymore. It was obviously vexatious to the man. But it didn’t prevent her from wondering.

Their arrival at the carriage builder’s ended all her speculation. As Higgens assisted her from the barouche, Victoria was well aware that a lady did not normally accompany a gentleman, particularly when he was not her husband, to such a place. It was a mark of her independence, she supposed, that she was permitted to come along. It was hard to say if she found this pleasing or not. Perhaps it made her appear unladylike, and this could not be liked at all. Yet she presumed by her very behavior that she invited such judgment. It was a lowering thought.

They walked along past bins of curled horsehair to be used for stuffing the seats, stacks of lumber to be used for various parts of the carriages: ash in great amounts, for it was the hardest and best. She identified elm, oak, Honduras mahogany, and deal by little signs above each pile. There were containers Victoria thought might contain glue, and some that obviously held paint. In one little room she glimpsed wet leather being stretched over a piece of wood.

“That will be japanned later, and end up a glossy black to do the new carriage owner proud,” Sir Edward said when he noticed her curiosity.

At last they located the owner of the establishment, a Mr. Tilbury, who appeared overwhelmed at the mere notion that Sir Edward had taken a lady through the dust and noise of his premises.

“Sir Edward, how may I serve you?” he at last inquired when he had mastered his sense of propriety.

“I have shown this lady some of your enterprise so she might appreciate the quality of the carriages you produce. We have need to replace her chaise, and she fancies to add her comments to mine regarding the furbishing.”

At once Victoria could see the look of speculation that entered the carriage builder’s eyes, and guessed his thoughts. She hastened to inform him otherwise. “Sir Edward and I were involved in a bit of an accident. Although it really was not his fault—for circumstances were such that he could not help the crash—he insists upon replacing our family vehicle, a most handsome gesture, you must admit.’’ She noticed the subtle alteration of the man’s expression, and was glad she had spoken.

“I doubt if Miss Dancy will concern herself regarding the basic construction of the carriage. After all”—Sir Edward smiled with teasing brilliance—”a woman can scarcely be expected to understand the finer points of the wheels, axles, or sway bars, can she?”

Victoria gave him a wry look. He was giving her and her family a highly expensive gift, one he need not offer. After all, it was not as though she was a ladybird and he was buying her a fancy carriage. No, it was to be a sensible traveling coach, a family vehicle. And she would get to see Sir Edward again.

“I would want excellent springs, sir,” she managed in a restrained voice. “And comfortable, well-padded seats. Elizabeth wishes for an aquamarine interior. As well, I think the lamps ought to be large so as to give extraordinary light.’’

“And I expect you would enjoy Venetian blinds rather than silk curtains, as well?” Sir Edward inquired.

She glanced up to see a flirtatious light in his eyes.

“Pockets in the doors for my nieces’ toys and books. The rumble ought to have adequate storage for luggage,” she declared with an emphatic nod of her head, quite ignoring that intriguing look.

“You observed the boot of my chaise, I take it. It’s larger than the one you had on yours.” He turned to the carriage builder with a sigh. “I presume you took note of Miss Dancy’s desires?” At the man’s confident nod, Sir Edward turned again to Victoria. “Aquamarine?” Then he nodded slowly. “Of course, your eyes have a touch of that color when you wear green, and I believe your younger sister even more so.”

Victoria found herself staring up into his eyes, utterly bemused. Those extremely dark brown eyes appeared warm, meltingly so. They reminded her of the sensual sweetness of chocolate, appealing to her tastes very much.

Mr. Tilbury cleared his throat. Behind him, a workman dropped a length of iron, and it crashed against another with a great clang.

She blinked, then blushed in what Edward considered a rather charming manner, given her background. Again he wondered how much was veneer and how much was the real Victoria Dancy.

“May I see any samples of fabric you might have, sir?’’ she inquired of the carriage builder.

That gentleman admirably concealed any thoughts he might have entertained and ushered the pair of customers into a small, only slightly dusty room. On a deal table he found a pile of samples and offered them to Miss Dancy with a flourish.

It was a simple matter to select the fabrics for the interior, although she turned to Edward for confirmation of her choices. He watched as she pondered the choices for the interior of her new coach, and inwardly grimaced at the cost. Not that he was purse-pinched. But he would have to rearrange an investment or two to get his hands on the ready money, perhaps cash in a few consols? The government bonds were paying three and a half percent at the moment, and although they rarely varied, he was loath to lose the interest. However, after running his own establishment—discreetly from behind the scenes, naturally—he had acquired a better appreciation for the prompt payment of bills.