The Sinister Spinster (12 page)

"I'll wait for you there," he said, indicating the inn across the narrow street. "Come and fetch me when you have finished. Do not," he added with a stern look, "even think of returning to Derring Hall without me."

Her response was a raised eyebrow, followed by a mocking curtsy. "Yes, my lord," she murmured, a lively sparkle in her aquamarine eyes as she tilted back her head to meet his gaze. "Very well, my lord."

He grinned. "Imp," he accused, flicking his finger down her pert nose. "Just mind you do as I say, else I shall be most displeased."

Relatively certain she would do as he ordered, Adam led his ever-patient mount over to the inn. He turned him over to the waiting linkboy and was about to leave the stables when he caught sight of an elegant traveling coach. Recognizing the heraldic device painted on the side, he turned and hurried into the inn.

He hadn't taken but a few steps inside when he heard his name called out.

"Falconer! Ho there!"

"Your grace," he said, hurrying forward to greet the older man with the magnificent mane of white hair flowing about his ruddy face who was striding toward him. "What are you doing here? You can't have received my letter already!"

"Indeed, I have," Arthur, Duke of Creshton, exclaimed, clapping his hand on Adam's shoulder and adroitly guiding him toward the private parlor. "Came tearing down the moment I read it. But let's have a glass of wine, shall we? We've much to discuss, and precious little time."

Adam took his meaning and fell silent, holding his tongue until the door had closed behind him.

"What do you think?" he asked, studying the man he regarded as both a mentor and a friend. For all his bluff ways and hearty manner, the duke was possessed of one of the most brilliant political minds Adam had ever encountered, and he was relieved to have the older man in his corner once again. His grace would know precisely what was to be done and the best way to do it.

"What I think is that dashed fool Derring ought to be shot," the duke grumbled, his magnificent brows meeting in a scowl as he settled into his chair. "Why the Foreign Secretary saw fit to entrust so much as a piece of foolscap to him, I am sure I shall never know. Fellow has the brains of a flea.

"Ah, well." He gave a philosophical shrug. "No use wringing our hands now. What's to be done, that's what's important. We discussed it on our way down, and I believe we've come up with just the thing."

"We?" Adam brightened in relief. "Is Lord St. Jerome with you?"

"I should say not!" the duke thundered, looking properly shocked. "You must know his viscountess is expecting his heir any day now, and it would take a brace of cannons to dislodge him from his estate. I've Elinore with me."

"What?"

"Stands to reason, don't it?" If the duke was offended by Adam's strangled gasp, he gave no indication. "Girl's accepted everywhere, and her being in the house gives us the perfect excuse to slip an agent into place. Daresay no one is likely to notice an extra footman or two about, eh?" He winked at Adam.

Put like that, Adam had no choice but to agree. "No, I suppose not," he conceded, albeit with a frown. "But still—an agent? You think matters that serious, then?"

The duke gave a grim nod. "Deadly serious. You must know the Austrians dislike the Russians even more than we hate the bloody Frogs, and it's likely they'll square off over the Polish Issue. Prince Bronyeskin is in to it up to his neck, and because of his closeness to the Grand Duchess we dare not touch him."

"Are you certain Bronyeskin is involved?" Adam asked, having already given the matter considerable thought. "I've come to know the man, and I can't see him skulking about stealing papers."

"Perhaps not," the duke said with another shrug. "But he bears watching, regardless."

"What is your agent's name?" Adam asked, deciding to let the matter drop for the moment. "I should like to meet with him so I can give him the information I have already gathered."

To his surprise the duke shook his head. "Not the way it's done, I am afraid. Marquesses don't meet with footmen, and if you was to seek him out, people would wonder. You tell me what you have, and I'll see it's passed on."

The answer was not at all to Adam's liking, but before he could demand a more satisfactory explanation the door opened and a tall woman with her dark chestnut hair pinned back in an elegant chignon stepped into the room. When she saw Adam she gave him a cool nod, her gray eyes indifferent as they swept over him.

"Lord Falconer," she said, her voice as precise and
emotionless as if she were greeting a stranger. "How nice to see you again."

Adam rose to his feet, his manner equally stiff as he offered her a bow. "Lady Elinore," he said, pride and a lingering hurt he refused to acknowledge making him wary. "You are well, I trust?"

"There, you see?" The duke chuckled before his daughter could reply. "The two of you can pass a polite conversation without coming to blows. Sure you won't offer for her again, Falconer?" he added, giving Adam a roguish wink. "She might even say yes this time."

"Papa!" Lady Elinore's pose as a haughty lady dissolved into mortification as she cast her father a horrified look.

"Don't take on so, m'dear," he responded with a smug chuckle. "I was just having a bit of fun. A blind man can see the pair of you would not suit. And you needn't poker up like a dashed suit of armor, either, my lord," he said, shaking his finger at Adam. "You always were too serious by half."

Adam could think of no reply. His offer for Elinore and the way she had flung it back in his teeth was still something of a sore point with him. However grateful he might now be that she'd had the good sense to refuse him, it would be some time before he could look upon the incident with anything approaching levity.

"How is Mary, dearest?" the duke asked after a moment, covering the awkward silence with his usual ease. "Has she recovered?"

"Yes, Papa. The tea seems to be settling her stomach. We should be able to resume our journey whenever you are ready.

"Mary is my maid," she added by way of explanation to Adam. "Traveling upsets her stomach."

"I see," he replied politely, although in truth he did not. Derring Hall was but a mile distant, and it made far more sense to him to press on rather than stopping. But that was Elinore for you, he decided; the woman never
did what you expected. Rather like another lady he had recently come to know, he thought, biting back a smile as he thought of Elizabeth. Then he frowned.

"Have you room in your traveling coach for one more?" he asked, a sudden thought occurring to him.

"Certainly, dear fellow, certainly," his grace assured him affably. "In need of a ride, are you?"

Adam shook his head. "Not me, no. I rode in. But Lady Derring's companion walked into town, and I believe she would welcome a ride home. She injured her shoulder yesterday, and I fear she may have overestimated her strength."

"Then we should be delighted to oblige her," the duke said with a gracious nod. "Where is she?"

"In the milliner's shop across the way," Adam said, rising to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just go fetch her."

It was the perfect solution, he decided, making his way out of the crowded inn. Not only would it provide Elizabeth with a ride back to the manor, but it would also give his grace the opportunity to take her measure. However convinced he might be of her innocence, the fact remained that until the real culprit was apprehended, he couldn't completely dismiss her from suspicion. His own feelings for her were so tangled, he feared he'd long since lost his objectivity, and that he knew would not do. For Elizabeth's sake, if she was to be truly exonerated, it was best if that exoneration came from a neutral party. It was the only way she could be completely safe, and her safety was rapidly becoming a matter of paramount importance to him.

"Consider it done, me darling." Mrs. Treckler gave Elizabeth a saucy wink as she slipped Elizabeth's letter inside the bodice of her gown. "Tom sails tonight, and this will be in America a'fore ye know it. Will there be an answer?"

Elizabeth thought of the letter she'd written her father
and shook her head. "No, Mrs. Treckler, there will be no answer."

"All right, then," the milliner answered brightly, opening up the box and taking out the bonnet. "And what's to be done with this one, then? Not more fruit? The thing already looks like a bleeding orchard."

Elizabeth bit her lip, her sadness giving way to amusement at the other woman's good-natured humor.

"Her ladyship would like a different-colored ribbon, Mrs. Treckler. Something in peach, perhaps?" she said, giving thanks as she often did that her employer was so devoted to her hats. It was because of her devotion that she'd met the milliner and learned of her brother's interesting business; and, of course, carrying Lady Derring's bonnets to and from the manor had provided her with the perfect means of covering her true purpose for the meetings.

"Peach?" Mrs. Treckler turned the bonnet this way and that, studying it with a knowing eye. "Aye, I reckon that would serve, although I've a lovely shade of pink that would be even better. I'll send a length of it along as well, shall I? That way you'll not need to make another trip. I trust we'll not be seeing as much of you as before?" And she gave Elizabeth a knowing look.

"That would depend upon her ladyship," Elizabeth answered pedantically, although she thought it unlikely she would be spending quite as much time in the tiny shop. Most of her visits on Lady Derring's behalf had been the result of some gentle hint on her part that there was some problem with one of the countess's many bonnets.

The door opened behind her, and when she glanced over her shoulder she wasn't surprised to see Lord Falconer entering the shop. She'd been there for almost half an hour, and he'd never struck her as being the overly patient sort.

"Have you finished?" he asked, walking up to join her.

"Almost," she replied, more amused than vexed. "Mrs. Treckler and I were just discussing ribbon colors. Which
do you think would look best on Lady Derring, peach or a soft pink?" she asked, unable to resist the urge to tweak him. He was behaving in his usual autocratic manner, and in her estimation such high-handedness deserved retribution.

He refused to rise to the bait. "I am afraid I have little experience in such matters," he replied, taking her arm and guiding her toward the door. He sent a glance back to Mrs. Treckler, who was watching them with obvious interest.

"Have the bonnet sent to the house when you are done, Mrs. Treckler, if you would be so kind," he said, and then pulled Elizabeth out the door before she could so much as protest.

"Sir, that was very presumptuous of you!" Elizabeth protested, hurrying to keep up with his longer stride. "Lady Derring will have my head if I return without her bonnet. She plans to wear it this afternoon."

"Her ladyship can make other arrangements," he replied, his jaw hardening. "I encountered the Duke of Creshton and his daughter, Lady Elinore, at the inn. They're on their way to the Hall; you may ride back with them."

"What?" Elizabeth skittered to a halt, her eyes wide with horror. "But his grace sent word refusing the invitation!" she cried, imagining the fit of vapors her employer would have upon hearing the news. "He can't come now; it will upset the numbers!"

He took possession of her arm again and began pulling her along with him. "You're not well-acquainted with his grace, else you'd know he is prone to changing his mind at the last moment," he said coolly. "As for Elinore, there's nothing she likes better than upsetting things."

Elizabeth wasn't certain she cared for the sound of that. She already had a house filled with demanding ladies tugging at her skirts like a pack of unruly children. A duke's daughter with a penchant for mayhem didn't sound like a particularly welcome addition to her.

"Be that as it may," she replied truculently, her low-heeled shoes slipping on the cobblestones as she struggled for purchase, "I can hardly invite myself into their coach; it would be too forward by half. Adam!" She skittered to a halt and jerked her arm free, her face set in a furious scowl. "Let go of me!"

He sent her a stunned look. "You called me Adam," he said, sounding faintly shocked.

"And I suppose you think I am going to beg your pardon," she retorted, too defiant to be cautious, "but you may think again. When you behave like a marquess, I shall address you as such! If you persist in behaving like an ill-mannered schoolboy, then that is how I shall address you!" She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, daring him to protest.

To her surprise he merely shrugged and availed himself of her arm once more. "You mistake me, ma'am," he said, shouldering open the inn's door and pulling her inside. "I've no objection to your using my Christian name. It will give me leave to call you by yours.

"But," he admonished, topaz eyes dancing as he grinned down at her, "I am sure you'll understand if I insist you only do so when we are in private. I have my reputation to think of."

She was still sputtering in indignation when he introduced her to the duke and his stunning daughter. Less than five minutes later she found herself being bundled into the coach, a warm lap robe draped across her knees.

"And mind you stay there," he told her, his expression stern. He tipped his hat to the duke and Lady Elinore, and then slammed the carriage door closed.

The carriage started with a jerk a few seconds later, and an embarrassed Elizabeth turned her head to study the other occupants of the coach. To her surprise, Lady Elinore was smiling at her, with a decided sparkle in her eyes.

"Overbearing, isn't he?" she asked, her cultured voice rich with laughter.

Too taken aback to prevaricate, Elizabeth said the first words to pop into her head. "Yes, my lady, he most assuredly is."

"He means well, one may suppose," Lady Elinore observed, looking bored, "but I find it quite tiresome. Lord Falconer has always presumed far too much, if you want my opinion."

"You are too hard on his lordship, Elinore," the duke said, sending his daughter a censorious frown. "I still say it's because the two of you are so alike. That is why I want you to rethink his offer of marriage; he is just the man to tame you. Do you not agree, Miss Mattingale?" He glanced at Elizabeth, his steely expression making it plain what he expected her answer to be.