The Scoundrel and I: A Novella (16 page)

But when Elle arrived at the elegant home of Lord and Lady Bedwyr, she did not find the modiste fitting anybody for a gown. Instead, in a spectacularly luxurious drawing room Seraphina was sitting with the earl and countess around a tea table, speaking closely and quietly.

The footman announced her and the earl rose languidly to his feet and bowed. But his dark eyes were hard. The ladies did not smile or even nod in greeting. None of them said a thing.

“Good—Good day,” Elle stuttered.

They continued to stare without pleasure.

“I—I wonder if you might tell me—if, that is, you know where Captain Masinter could be. At the present moment,” she added idiotically, twisting her fingers in the ribbon of her pelisse and entirely unable to cease doing so.

Finally Seraphina stood up.

“He is at the docks,” she said. “His ship departs in five days.”

“His ship? Five—Five
days
?”

“Yes, Miss Flood,” the earl said. “Our friend has decided that a bachelor’s life at sea is much more to his liking than the alternative. Now I wonder how he came to that decision? Hm?”

“No!” she blurted. “He mustn’t go. Why is he
going
?”

“Well, what else did you expect my brother to do after you broke his heart?” Seraphina said. “He is a sailor.”

“But—but—”

“But what?” the earl said grimly.

“He is the son of a
baronet,
” Elle exclaimed. “He is a victorious naval captain. His closest friends are earls and princesses, for goodness’ sake.”

They stared at her.

Her composure broke. “Why doesn’t anyone seem to have noticed that I am not his social equal?”

“I daresay because he has not,” the earl said.

“Miss Flood,” the countess said, “We have just now been discussing how we could convince Anthony not to depart like this. Yet we are stymied. Have you, perhaps, any idea that might meet with success?”

“I think I have.”

Abruptly, all three of them looked a lot less hateful and a lot more hopeful.

Within minutes Elle was tucked into the corner of the earl and countess’s carriage and flying across town.

Having adamantly avoided sailors until very recently, Elle had never been to the London docks. Stepping out of the carriage, she was overwhelmed. There was industry everywhere, from the quays busy with people going and coming, and carts laden with goods and pulled by massive horses, to the dozens of little boats moving here and there in the water, and to the decks of massive ships parked alongside the docks.

She allowed her gaze to follow the nearest ship’s central mast up its noble length to the top that poked into the summer blue sky, and a wonderful calm blanketed her. This was his world, the world that had embraced him when others had rejected him, the world that had seen in a boy—a boy who could barely speak, read, or write—a hero.

It was also, however, a vast world and she hadn’t any idea where to start looking for him. The coachman helped. Mentioning the captain by name, he gained them entrance onto the closest wharf. Another man that looked vaguely official pointed them toward a ship flanking a dock.

She found him there.

He stood on the highest deck of the massive vessel, so confident and
captain-like
that her heart gave itself one last violent squeeze, decided it was through with wringing forever, and abruptly ceased functioning. She mounted the gangplank and walked on wobbly knees to the deck. Covered with crates and barrels and ropes and sailors working diligently, the wooden planks seemed to stretch a mile to the stairs that led up to the deck upon which she had glimpsed him.

Then he was there, at the top of those steps, looking at her.

With her nonfunctioning heart in her throat, she went forward. He descended the steps and met her partway.

As though by magic all the sailors seemed to vanish.

“How did you do that?” burbled from her lips.

His beautifully intense eyes frowned. “What?”

“Clear the deck. Do they always part for you when you walk through, like the Red Sea for Moses?”

“Cob saw you board. I suspect he thought I’d prefer it.” He did not laugh as she had hoped he would, or even smile. She could not fool herself that this was his captain’s demeanor. She knew it was her presence here.

Without speaking he moved to the railing where a rope was dangling from a mast far above. Taking it into the big strong hands that she loved, he affixed it to a device attached to the rail and pulled.

“Why are you here?” he said over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

He paused in his task, but his hand remained on the rope, his coat strained across his shoulders. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well.” Nerves in a tangle, she moved toward him. “I was wondering if you are heading to Hungary, if I could perhaps come along and act as your translator.”

He twined the rope about a metal bracket. “Quit with the teasing.”

“All right. But does that mean I must quit with you too?”

“Can’t quit what you never started, can you?”

“What if I want to start?” she said, then cleared her throat and said clearly. “With you.”

Abruptly he turned to her.

“With
me
?” His eyes were stormy. “You threatened me.
Me
.”

“It was wrong.
I
was wrong. I did not mean any of it. I thought—”

“You thought what? You thought that you could make love to a man like you care about him and then leave him with callous threats dashed across a scrap of paper, which, by the by, it took him an agonizing quarter of an hour to read, and he still wasn’t certain he’d understood it correctly because frankly he was shocked, and astonished, so just to be certain he got it right he took it to his
sister
to confirm, which was its own unique kind of mortification. Is that what you thought?”

She couldn’t speak. She nodded.

“Do you know what, Gabrielle Flood?
You
are a scoundrel.”

“I
am
a scoundrel. I asked you to make love to me even though I knew there would be nothing between us afterward. I wanted to be with you so much that I didn’t care it was wrong.”

He walked right up to her and looked down into her face. “I am not Josiah Brittle Junior. That you can believe for even an instant that I made love to you with dishonorable intentions—”

“I thought you would never forgive yourself if you did not offer for Mrs. Park. You want the best for everybody, even when you cannot possibly be responsible for everybody. Still, you try to make it better. I could not bear to be the cause of you never making peace with your lieutenant’s death.”

“You were wrong,” he said. “I made my peace with it.”

“You did? How?”

“I hounded down her long-lost love.”

“Her long-lost—
Oh.
” She had seen him on Gracechurch Street: Jane’s fiancé in the carriage with the children.

“Got lucky, admittedly. Fellow’d just returned from the East Indies. But I wouldn’t have stopped searching till I’d found somebody to take her in and keep her safe so she wouldn’t end up like—
Damn it,
Elle, I—” He turned away again and his shoulders rose. Then he strode back toward the stairs to the top deck.

“I did not write that note only because I thought you wished to make atonement,” she said to his back.

“Is that so?” he said diffidently, mounting the steps.

“I was frightened.” She scrambled up after him. The breeze buffeted her hair and gown and she exclaimed, “I
am
frightened. I have never known a man like you. I have never known a man so thoroughly good-hearted. I thought—I don’t know what I thought but I’m frightened.”

He turned to her, but he said nothing.

Her throat was closing up. “You wrote to Lady Justice.”

He frowned. “How do you—”

“She demanded that Mr. Brittle forgive me for the missing type. She said if he did not do so, and increase my wages, that she would go to another printer.”

His face was a mélange of relief and pleasure and pain. “Fine then,” he said only. “Fine.”

“You
wrote
to her.”

He shrugged and looked over her head and his blue, blue eyes studied the complex crisscrossing of masts and ropes and furled sails, assessing carefully. “Surprised she even got the gist of it,” he said. “Disaster of a scrawl. I’m not that hawk fellow you want.”

“Ain’t.”

“What’s that?”

“You
ain’t
that hawk fellow.”

“Gabrielle.” His voice was abruptly tight.

“Anthony.”

“
Don’t
.” He ran his hand over his face. Dropping his gaze, he stared fixedly at the deck before his boots. “Temper’s not what it—what it should be at present. Not suitable for feminine company.”

“Forgive me, Anthony. I am sorry.”

“I am too. Thought I’d—” He bit back his speech.

“You thought what?”

He met her gaze directly. “I thought I’d found you.”

“Found me?” she whispered.

“The one. The perfect woman for me. The only woman. That day, with your grandmother, I looked at her and saw what you’d become someday.”

“Poor, blind, and ill?”

He smiled gently. “Beautiful. As you are now. Forty, fifty years from now, still beautiful. Your eyes, your smile. I saw myself all those years in the future, holding that woman’s hand and loving her as much as I do now. More, daresay.” He drew a deep breath. “But I’m not the man you want, Elle. I can’t write a clever letter. I can’t even write a clever word. And I can’t pretend that I don’t love you when I do. That ain’t me.” His eyes jerked upward.
“Isn’t.”

“I don’t want him. I never wanted him. I wanted them.”

“Them?”

“Lady Justice and Peregrine. Them together. How they cannot seem to get enough of each other, even when they are at each other’s throats for all the world to see. Their spark. Their devotion to each other. I want that.”

“You want that?”

“I want
you
. Because I feel that way with you. I have felt it since you walked into the shop and made me drink ale, and every moment since. I feel so alive with you, so happy. You make me laugh and you make me hum when I don’t even know I’m humming and you make me want to speak with contractions and strip off every piece of clothing and throw myself at you. You make me feel everything I thought I would never be allowed to feel. I love you, Anthony.”

A burst of air escaped his lungs and his eyes were bright.

“Please accept me, Captain,” she said, “even though I am a scoundrel.”

In an instant she was in his arms and her mouth was beneath his. They kissed and she sighed and he held her close and it didn’t matter that all the world could see. He was hers and he was wonderful.

“We’ve a bit of a problem, Elle,” he said, nuzzling her throat and then the edge of her lips.

“
We
. I like that,” she murmured. “But what problem could we possibly have?”

“Just signed on again.” He kissed her. “Admiralty’s thrilled.” He kissed her again. “Gave me command of this first-rate beauty,
Princess Donna
. Sparkling new, just launched out of dry dock. Forty-eight guns.”

“How splendid! Congratulations.” She smiled up at him. “I will miss you dreadfully. How long will you be away? A month? Two?”

“Two years.”

Her eyes popped wide.

“Your good-bye note was very effective,” he said.

“I don’t suppose you can tell them you made a mistake?”

“I signed on with one condition. Told them there was a particular printing press maker in Philadelphia I’d like to visit. New platen design. Everybody’s clamoring for it.”

“You researched printing presses?”

“Thought I’d nab one for you. If you hadn’t tied the knot with anybody else by then, I hoped I might be able to entice you with it.”

“Are you telling me that you rejoined the navy so that you could sail across the ocean, purchase a printing press, sail back to England with it, and use it to court me?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“I love you, Anthony Masinter.”

He kissed her yet again.

“Thing of it is,” he murmured against her lips, “as captain I’ve the liberty to keep a wife aboard.” He drew away to look into her eyes. “What say you, little print mistress?” The blue shone. “Care to join me at the altar before I’m obliged to cast off?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” She went onto her toes, pulled him down to her, and kissed him with every bit of happiness in her heart. He wrapped his hands around her face and for several sweet, delectable minutes made her very glad that she had reconsidered her notions about sailors.

“Will Lady Justice approve?” He stroked her cheek. “I hear she’s none too keen on marriage.”

“She isn’t.” She smiled into his loving eyes. “But she has never met my scoundrel.”

and

Other Writings

BY

LADY JUSTICE

Advocate for All Britons

&

(Her Detractor and Nemesis)

PEREGRINE

Secretary, The Falcon Club

~

Presented to

His Majesty GEORGE IV

by

Captain Anthony Tallis Masinter

of the Royal Navy,

Upon the occasion of the birth of his daughter.

~

Selected & Edited

by

Gabrielle Elizabeth Masinter

Scoundrel Publishing Co.

London, England

July 1822

Fellow Subjects of Britain,

How delinquent is Government if it distributes the sorely depleted Treasury of our Noble Kingdom hither and yon without recourse to prudence, justice, or reason?

Gravely so.

Irresponsibly so.

Villainously so!

As you know, I have made it my crusade to make public all such spendthrift waste. This month I offer yet another example: 14½ Dover Street.

What use has Society of an exclusive gentlemen’s club if no gentlemen are ever seen to pass through its door? — that white-painted panel graced with an intimidating knocker, a Bird of Prey. But the door never opens. Do the exalted members of this club ever use their fashionable clubhouse?

It appears not.

Information has recently come to me through perilous channels I swim for your benefit, Fellow Subjects. It appears that without proper debate Lords has approved by Secret Ballot an allotment to the Home Office designated for this so-called club. And yet for what purpose does the club exist but to pamper the indolent rich for whom such establishments are already Legion? There can be no good in this Rash Expenditure.

I vow to uncover this concealed squandering of our kingdom’s Wealth. I will discover the names of each member of this club, and the business or play that passes behind its imposing knocker. Then, dear readers, I will reveal it to you.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Fellow Britons,

I vowed I would not relent in my pursuit of information concerning the exclusive gentlemen’s club at #14½ Dover Street. I have not. I am now in possession of a curious fact. It is called The Falcon Club. Its members go by the names of birds. I haven’t any idea the reason for this, but when I know I will tell you.

It would be wonderful if I discovered them to be a society of bird-watching experts. I might even join them if I could spare the time. But I doubt I will find that. Bird-watchers are quiet folk, but not to my knowledge particularly secretive.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Fellow Britons,

I recently received the following communication through my publisher:

Dear Lady Justice,

Your impertinence astounds me. But your tenacity must be commended. I fear I have already, in fact, come to admire you for that. But, dear lady, if you wish admittance to the Falcon Club so desperately, you have only to discover the names of its members and apply to join. One, I regret to report, has recently left us. But four of us remain. Among these is myself,

Your servant,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

Impertinence, indeed. This Peregrine seeks to intimidate me with soft words and flatteries, common methods by which the powerful and wealthy cajole and control society. Rest assured, my head will not be turned. I shall continue to seek out wasteful expenditures of funds and lay them open to examination before the entire kingdom.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Fellow Britons,

The people of our great kingdom must not see another farthing of their livelihoods squandered on the idle rich. Thus, my quest continues! In rooting out information concerning that mysterious gentleman’s establishment at 14 ½ Dover Street, the so-called Falcon Club, I have learned an intriguing morsel of information. One of its members is a sailor and they call him Sea Hawk.

Birds, birds and more birds! Who will it be next, Mother Goose?

Unfortunately I have not learned the name of his vessel. But would it not be unsurprising to discover him to be a member of our Navy or a commissioned privateer? Yet another expenditure of public funds on the personal interests of those whose privilege is already mammoth.

I will not rest until all members of the Falcon Club are revealed or, due to my investigating, the club itself disbands in fear of thorough detection.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Madam,

Your persistence in seeking the identities of the members of our humble club cannot but gratify. How splendid for us to claim the marked attentions of a lady of such enterprise.

You have hit the mark. One of us is indeed a sailor. I wish you the best of good fortune in determining which of the legion of Englishmen upon the seas he is. But wait! May I assist? I am in possession of a modest skiff. I shall happily lend it to you so that you may put to sea in search of your quarry. Better yet, I shall work the oars. Perhaps sitting opposite as you peer over the foamy swells I will find myself as enamored of your beauty as I am of your tenacious intelligence—for only a beauty would hide behind such a daunting name and project.

I confess myself curious beyond endurance, on the verge of seeking your identity as assiduously as you seek ours. Say the word, madam, and I shall have my boat at your dock this instant.

Yours,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

~o0o~

Odwall Blankton Fishery, Billingsgate Wharf

Receipt of Purchase
:

10 lbs Mackerel, Smoked

20 lbs Sole

1 doz. Lobsters, live

2 lbs Sturgeon Roe

3 doz. Oysters

20 Lemons

To Be Delivered To
: Lady Justice, Brittle & Sons, Printers, London

Attached
: My lady, with my compliments. Peregrine

~o0o~

Fellow Subjects of Britain,

The arrogance of the aristocracy never ceases to amaze. Consider the following, which I received yesterday from the Head Bird Man:

My Lady,

It is with great pleasure that I alert you to the news that Sea Hawk has returned to England and is forthwith available for you to run to ground. I fear that once you become acquainted with him you will have no use for the remaining members of our inconsequential little club; he tends to turn ladies’ heads. If this comes to pass, my heart will suffer for loss of your attention.

But I cannot regret that finally you may discover the identity of one of us. Therefore, if you should in fact learn his true name, pray do me the honor of conveying to me your meeting place and time so that I might hide in the bushes and sigh over the loss I am myself now bringing about. A lady must be given that which she wishes, however, and if I am able to fulfill your desires even in this manner I will eagerly do so, even though it is to my disadvantage.

Yours devotedly, &c,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

He teases as though I were a demi-rep he might charm with childish flattery. He imagines women bereft of the capacity to reason, susceptible to empty foolishness instead.

Note this, Peregrine: I am unmoved by your flirtation. I will discover Sea Hawk’s true identity and will reveal him and all of you to the poor citizens of Britain whose wealth you squander playing games like little boys at pick-up-sticks.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Dearest Lady,

I give to you now only that which any gentleman admirer might give to a lady: poetry. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, to be precise. I offer it because having received back all the gifts I have sent to you, I need guidance as to what you may accept from me as gift. Quoth the Ancient Mariner:

“If he may know which way to go;

For she guides him smooth or grim.

See, brother, see! how graciously

She looketh down on him.”

My lady, looketh down on me with gracious mercy and return not this humble gift.

Yours &c,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

* Editor’s Note: Among these gifts delivered to Brittle & Sons, Printers, was a life-sized statue of a mermaid. —G.M.

~o0o~

Peregrine,

You preen. You strut. You will be plucked. Then I will have only this to say to you, “The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!”

— Lady Justice

* Editor’s Note: Here Lady Justice also quotes from Coleridge’s
Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner
. —G.M.

~o0o~

My Dearest Lady,

I write with unhappy news: Sea Hawk has quit the club. Thus our numbers are once more diminished. We are now a sorry small lot — only three. If you could see your way to resting your campaign against our poor little band of companions, I would nevertheless eternally count you the most worthy adversary and continue to sing your praises to all.

I admit, however, that should you do so, I shall regret the loss of you.

Yours &c.

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

~o0o~

To Peregrine:

Your cajoling fails to touch me. I will not rest. Be you three, two, or only one, I will find you and reveal you to public scrutiny. Take care, Mr. Secretary. Your day of reckoning will soon be at hand.

— Lady Justice

P.S. Thank you for the salted herring. You ought to have begun with that. I simply adore salted herring. You cretin.

~o0o~

Dear Lady Who Calls Herself Just,

I have waited these months for news that would assure me of your continued interest in my club. Alas, none has come. Your latest publications say nothing of our humble band of friends. I grow uneasy that you have relinquished your project of uncovering us, and I find myself jealous of the regular subjects of your pamphlets. How can those unfortunates claim your attention when I cannot? And how unjust you are to have forgotten my friends and me, when you had promised to pursue us. Can your character be so inconstant? I will not believe it!

Continually yours,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

~o0o~

To Peregrine, at large:

Rather than my character, your intelligence is inconstant, or indeed non-existent. And how like an aristocrat to believe you deserve attention above all others. Yes, wounded veterans of war, orphans, chimney sweeps, and stevedores interest me more than your elite cabal. Yes, their struggles to provide for their families concern me more greatly than the waste of Government funds on your little club. Yes, I would rather think and write about them than about you and your pampered friends.

You see, I care for these people—deeply, honestly, in my heart. Unlike you, they are not garbed in costly raiment, they do not sit languidly sipping imported spirits while others rush about serving them, and they do not reside in vast mansions or gather with their friends at fashionable venues. They are poor, struggling, and overburdened with the labor that underpins this kingdom. They need me. You do not, except to expose you to the Good People of this Nation as villainous parasites.

I have not ceased my pursuit of you. I simply have others who interest me more.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Dear Lady,

Extraordinary! If I make myself desperate and destitute, will it inspire your continued interest? Shall I tear off my fine garments and cast away my wealth in order to ensure your devoted attention? Can this be the sort of man you admire?

Incredulously yours,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

~o0o~

To Peregrine, at large:

Yes. I dare you.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Dear Lady,

It is done—the moment you throw off the mask behind which you hide. Do so, and I will surrender.

Yours,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

~o0o~

Fellow Subjects of Britain,

Scandal!

At night I lie abed, heart pounding, breaths short, and mourn England’s ravagement. My soul cries and my frail feminine form aches to know that the Elite of Society to whom we all pay homage are stealing from our Kingdom to serve their profligate ways.

Stealing!

For four years now I have sought the identities of the members of the elusive Falcon Club, a gentleman’s leisure establishment that regularly receives funds from the Treasury without due process in Parliament. Today I announce my greatest accomplishment in this quest: I have discovered the identity of one member. I have hired an assistant to follow this man and learn of his activities. When I possess reports that I can trust, I will convey them to you.

Until then, if you are reading this pamphlet, Mr. Peregrine, know that I look forward to the day you and I meet face-to-face and I will tell you exactly what sort of man you truly are.

—Lady Justice

~o0o~

My Dearest Lady,

I am nearly breathless (as I daresay three-quarters of the men in London are now) imagining you at rest upon your cot, your breast filled with emotion, your lips trembling with feeling. I am moved by your devotion. And, like a cock released into the ring, I am roused by your eagerness to meet me in person.

But perhaps you have discovered not one of my fellow club members, but me. Perhaps I shan’t be obliged to wait long for us to finally become acquainted. Perhaps my own nocturnal imaginings will soon rush from the realm of dreams into reality. I can only hope.

Increasingly yours,

Peregrine

Secretary, the Falcon Club

~o0o~

Fellow Subjects,

I have frustrating news. The man I hired to follow the member of the Falcon Club that I discovered has lost the trail. I share with you this information because I have had letters from many of you excited at my discovery, and I cannot bear to hold you in suspense. It warms my heart that you are as desirous as I to know the truth of this club.

—Lady Justice

~o0o~

Dearest Lady,

I beg of you—mercy! You must cease this teasing prose. When you write of warmth, your heart, and desire all in the same sentence, I vow I can barely hold my seat. I would erect a tent before the office of your publisher and sleep in it nights in the hopes of capturing a glimpse of you entering the building upon the dawn. Indeed, I have attempted it! Alas, the street warden will not allow it. Thus I am forced to beg of you, my lady, consider my febrile imagination and give it rest.