Art and Artifice Page 4

  “But Bow Street is renowned for its work,” the golden-haired girl said, rising majestically and posing prettily as if to make sure he’d taken note of her figure. She batted liberally lashed eyes at him, pretty pink lips curling in a pout. “Surely you can help us, Mr. Cropper.”

  He imagined the fellows must drop at her feet in adoration for such an impassioned look. He found he preferred the more direct gaze coming from Lady Emily.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Miss,” he said, “but you have to give me something to go on. I have my hands full investigating real crimes.”

  “He wants to marry me.” Lady Emily met his gaze, her own once more defiant. “He seems rather passionate about it.”

  Something hot and hard pressed against his heart, and he recognized his old foe, jealousy. “I suppose I should congratulate you, then,” he said, though he knew he never would.

  “Please don’t,” she snapped. “Men like him don’t wish to marry girls like me. He must be up to something.”

  Did she consider herself beneath him? What rot! He took a step closer, lowered his head to meet her gaze straight on. “You’re mistaken, Lady Emily. A great many fellows would line up to marry you. You needn’t settle for someone the likes of Lord Robert Townsend.”

  He could feel the other girls staring at him. Indeed, he thought perhaps they were holding their breaths. All he could see were those dark eyes, like mirrors gazing back at him.

  “Then you’ll learn his secrets?” she asked, the slightest note of pleading in her voice. “You’ll stop him?”

  Oh, he intended to stop the fellow, all right. But his feud with Robert Townsend went far beyond a misplaced betrothal.

  Jamie straightened. “As I said, your ladyship, unless you have a specific complaint to issue, I can’t help you.”

  She nodded, face pinched but color rising once more. “Very well, then, Mr. Cropper. You leave me no choice but to resolve the matter myself.”

  Chapter 4

  “It appears we’re on our own,” Emily said as Warburton ushered Mr. Cropper out. What a disappointment! Here she found her mysterious stranger was none other than a Bow Street Runner, and then he refused to help her! But if he was a Runner, that pinnacle of the law, that bastion of truth, why had he wormed his way into her home last night? Did he suspect her father of some crime? Did he suspect her?

  Ariadne gave a sharp nod. “Agreed. We will simply have to investigate Lord Robert’s motives.”

  Priscilla looked far more skeptical. “It would certainly help if we knew why he was set on marrying you so suddenly.”

  “He has an evil reason,” Emily promised them all. “Count on it.”

  “Like what?” Daphne asked, obviously fascinated.

  “Who can say?” Emily said with a shrug. “Perhaps he hopes to squander my dowry on fripperies.”

  Ariadne stuck out her lower lip. “If I were writing the scene, I’d say he’ll use your father’s consequence to engage in some criminal activity–like smuggling young ladies of good family to be sold in the slave markets of the Far East.”

  Priscilla laughed. “Only you could come up with such a tale.”

  Ariadne smiled. “Why, thank you.”

  “I need more than a story,” Emily told them. “His Grace is ever practical. I need facts, proof, if I am to persuade him to allow me to cry off from this betrothal.”

  “With Lord Robert as your fiancé,” Daphne put in, “you’ll be expected to spend time together. That should give you an opportunity to learn his secrets.”

  Priscilla shook her head. “But he intends to marry her as soon as they sign the marriage agreement, by the sound of it. We don’t have the luxury of a prolonged engagement.”

  “I think,” Ariadne said with great feeling, “that we should show Mr. Cropper that young ladies of fashion are quite capable. I’ve read any number of stories in which the Bow Street Runners question family, acquaintances, and servants. They’ve been known to follow a criminal all over England to catch him in the act. I daresay if we tried it, we’d have a better picture of Lord Robert.” She glanced around as if expecting censure.

  Priscilla’s smile widened. “Brilliant.”

  Daphne nodded. “I could not have devised a better plan myself.”

  Emily looked at her in surprise. “But surely Lord Snedley would find it improper in the extreme.”

  Daphne blinked. “Only if we are caught.”

  “Which I do not intend to be,” Priscilla said. “There’s scandal enough already.”

  Emily felt for her. “You don’t have to be involved, Pris. I have Father’s consequence to hide behind, and Daphne and Ariadne have their mother’s renowned sense of decorum. You do have the most to lose.”

  Priscilla raised her chin. “Precisely. Which is why I must go with you. We must save the Ball and your painting, and if that means following Lord Robert Townsend from one gaming hell and pleasure palace to another until we discover the nasty fault that will undo him, then so be it!”

  They all gathered around the tea table, and Ariadne drew her journal from her reticule to draft a plan that included interviewing Lord Robert’s friends, family, and servants, as well as watching the man himself.

  “I have read,” she said, as she wrote, “that a gentleman is generally found during the day at his club.”

  “But which club?” Priscilla replied. “My father once belonged to White’s, Brooks’s, and Boodle’s, all at the same time!”

  Neither did they know Lord Robert’s intimates. Which of the fine gentlemen strolling or riding past the house, top hats dark in the sunlight, might be privy to his secrets? They could hardly accost the fellows and ask!

  In the end, they decided to divide and conquer. Priscilla and Ariadne would ask Priscilla’s father if he knew which clubs Lord Robert frequented, and Daphne and Emily would attempt to lay siege to the Townsend townhouse. And that meant Emily must involve her aunt.

  She found the lady lounging by the fire in her bedchamber, large feet propped up on a stool, body nestled in an armchair, book open on her lap. Her room was decorated in delicate rose and cream, gilded medallions like suns blazing from the ceiling. She regarded Emily over her spectacles as Emily made her prepared speech about wishing to call upon Lady Wakenoak.

  “So you’ve decided to go along with this betrothal,” her aunt surmised, closing her book. “I must say, you seemed far more concerned about it yesterday.”

  “I am still concerned,” Emily replied. “But I would like to speak further with the family. I haven’t seen Lady Wakenoak in some years, you know.”

  “Just as you hadn’t seen your betrothed,” Lady Minerva said, setting aside her book and gathering herself to rise. “I understand he called. You didn’t bother to send for me.”

  Emily sighed. “Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne were here. I meant no disrespect.”

  “Not as much as you meant Lord Robert,” she replied. “I hear you gave him quite the dressing down. If you intend to get in a dust up with Lady Wakenoak, I shall not countenance a meeting. My nerves simply won’t take it.”

  Emily suspected that little would truly upset her aunt, but she put on her best smile. “I promise to behave suitably. May we please attempt a visit? Now?”

  Lady Minerva waved a frail hand. “Give me a moment. I left my spectacles somewhere.”

  “On your nose?” Emily suggested with a pointed look at the gold-rimmed glasses.

  “No, not there,” her aunt said, glancing around. “I shall find them shortly and meet you downstairs.”

  Emily could only hope she was right. She felt quite fortunate when her aunt joined her and Daphne at the foot of the stairs less than a quarter hour later, bundled in a quilted blue pelisse, a velvet-covered bonnet with a peacock feather covering her gray curls. She accompanied them out to the waiting carriage.

  That, however, was the end of Emily’s good fortune. Though it turned out Lord Robert lived only a short distance away, in a tall, red brick townhouse with
green shutters on the multi-paned windows and a large park opposite in the center of the square, he was not at home. Neither was his mother, Lady Wakenoak, reported the wizened butler who accepted Lady Minerva’s calling card at the door.

  “It is the Season,” Daphne said with a sigh as they returned to the carriage. “Lord Snedley says the truly fashionable are never found at home unless suffering from bilious gout or the need to hide from creditors.”

  Emily frowned back at the green-lacquered door emblazoned with a lion’s head. “I suppose some do shuttle from pillar to post, but if Lady Wakenoak is so devastated by her husband’s loss, why is she out making calls?”

  “At the very least,” Lady Minerva said with a superior sniff, “there should be a black wreath on the door to show they are in mourning.”

  “Lord Snedley advises at least a year for a husband,” Daphne agreed, “more for someone you loved.”

  Emily eyed her aunt. “Then shouldn’t Lord Robert also be in mourning for his father? If Lady Wakenoak is supposed to forgo Society, shouldn’t Lord Robert refrain from marrying?”

  “Very likely,” Aunt Minerva said, waving to the groom, who hopped down to lower the step for her. “But it is up to his family to determine his level of devotion to his father and how he wishes it displayed.”

  “What does the sainted Lord Snedley advise for a son in mourning?” Emily whispered to Daphne as they waited for her aunt to climb into the carriage.

  “To spend his inheritance as soon as possible,” Daphne replied cheerfully.

  Well, that was no help. She had to find another way to learn what Lord Robert was doing. London was so large. How could they possibly trace his footsteps? She tapped the toe of her half-boot against the pavement, gaze going to the park in the center of the square. The leaves of the trees chattered in the brisk breeze. Only a few people had braved the spring weather to stroll. It wasn’t difficult to spot the young man, standing just inside the path that led deeper into the green as if he had been waiting for her. Though his cap was pulled down low over his face and his coat hid his waistcoat, she knew those shoulders, that confident stance. She didn’t dare make a move, lest he realize she’d noticed.

  “Daphne,” she whispered with the barest of nods toward the park, “look there.”

  Her friend followed her gaze. “The gentleman standing in the Terpsichorean Slouch that Lord Snedley favors? He is a fine fellow.” She stiffened. “Why, it’s Mr. Cropper!” Her look met Emily’s in amazement. “Is he following you?”

  Was he? What interest could she possibly have to Bow Street? Unless the interest was on Mr. Cropper’s side.

  She thought her face must be nearly as red as his hair at the very thought.

  The groom made a noise and opened the door wider as if to remind them they were wanted inside. Aunt Minerva was already nodding in her seat. Emily made up her mind and darted behind the coach. Daphne dashed after her to pull her up short.

  “You can’t go over there! You’re betrothed and shouldn’t be seen with another man. Lord Snedley would be much put out.”

  “Would you rather go?” Emily challenged her.

  Daphne made a face. “Why do you all always ask me to do such things?”

  “You ride, you dance, you’re the Amazon of our set,” Emily rattled off, watching James Cropper. Had he realized her intent? Would he come forward? Retreat?

  “I’ll have you know I am trying to be a lady,” Daphne protested. “What gentleman wants to marry a girl with more dash and skill than he has?”

  Emily couldn’t wait for Daphne to make up her mind. “There, he’s ducked deeper into the shadows. We’ll lose him!” She pulled from Daphne’s grip and started across the street.

  “Oh, very well,” Daphne muttered as she caught up. “I’ll come along, but only to give you a proper chaperon.”

  They hurried across the tree-lined street. Emily peered around the bushes at the edge of the park and over the top of shrubs. Where had he gone? What was she to do, drag Daphne through the undergrowth in search of him?

  Daphne seemed to know what to do. Whether she liked it or not, there was a reason the others relied on her for such maneuvers. She linked arms with Emily and forced her to a leisurely pace across the park. Her eyes were narrowed, gaze darting about as if she could see through the greening shrubbery. It was the same look Emily had seen when they had joined His Grace for a fox hunt. Daphne had watched, carefully, from horseback as the hounds coursed across the fields, like streams rushing in the spring. The moment they all coalesced, catching the scent, she’d taken off in pursuit.

  “He’s just gone to ground,” Daphne whispered to Emily now, as if James Cropper was the fox this time. “But we shall catch him.”

  “Do you see him?” Emily whispered back.

  “Not at the moment . . . ah, yes! To your right, behind that laurel shrub.”

  Something was indeed moving there, and Emily fancied she caught a glimpse of russet hair, as if he’d lost his cap in his hurry to escape. Excitement coursed through her, and she could feel Daphne’s grip tighten on her arm. Their footsteps quickened.

  “Pretend we are having a conversation,” Daphne murmured, “so he won’t suspect we’re on to him.”

  “You could not ask for a finer day,” Emily said obligingly as they closed in on him. She hoped Daphne was the only one besides her who heard the tension in the tone.

  “Unseasonably warm,” Daphne agreed, gazed focused on their quarry. He seemed to be crouched down, as if to spy on them. The bushes rustled with his movement.

  Emily froze, heart pounding. What would he do, knowing he’d been caught? What would he say? Her fingers went to the curls at the side of her straw bonnet as if they needed some anchor.

  Or wanted her to primp.

  She dropped her hand and straightened her spine. She was not about to primp, for James Cropper or Lord Robert or any other fellow. She merely wanted to know what business he had around the Townsend home or her.

  “Say something,” Daphne hissed to her. “You’re so brave. Confront him.”

  Emily knew she should. She was the daughter of the duke, after all. She should stand tall, demand that he come out, order him to explain himself. She had had no trouble demanding the truth from him last night or today. Why couldn’t she open her mouth now?

  The bushes rustled again, more forcefully this time, and Emily took a step back. Her fingers clutched Daphne’s arm so tightly she thought she might break Daphne’s bones. Daphne was just as frozen.

  “I cannot recall Lord Snedley discussing the finer points of stalking a gentleman through the park,” she whispered to Emily. “What shall we do?”

  Something large and powerful shifted its weight, and Emily sucked in a breath. Eyes wide, Daphne removed Emily’s fingers from her arm and dropped a curtsey.

  “Forgive me, sir,” she said to the bush. “How are you this fine afternoon?”

  Emily stared at her.

  Mr. Cropper was not nearly so civil. He growled! Emily took another step back in alarm, pulling Daphne with her. The bushes were shoved aside, and before Emily could cry out, a furry body launched itself at them. The creature hit Daphne in the chest, tearing her away from Emily as Daphne careened backward to land on her rump in the dirt of the path.

  Emily rushed to her rescue, but it was too late. Daphne surrendered herself to a very wet kiss.

  “Down!” she commanded, and the overgrown terrier obediently climbed off her and lay at her side. An elderly footman who had obviously been taking it for a walk hurried up, red-faced.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss. He slipped the lead. Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” Daphne said, accepting his hand to allow her to rise. “Dogs love me. I hope shortly to be able to say the same about the gentlemen.”

  Emily shook her head. Her hand was on her chest, and she felt her heart still pounding its wild beat. Glancing around, she saw no sign of Mr. Cropper.

  But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t catch
him, or Lord Robert, the next time. It seemed they needed more cunning to catch the fox in the eleven days left to them.

  * * *

  Jamie watched from the edge of the park as Lady Emily and her friend disengaged from the dog and returned to the carriage. She’d warned him she intended to take matters into her own hands, but he hadn’t thought she’d be quite so determined as to stalk him through the park. Or be so good at it. If the dog hadn’t presented itself, he might have been caught, right and tight.

  Of course, perhaps she’d only been visiting her betrothed. Jamie had been watching the front of the house since leaving her, and Lord Robert had yet to make an appearance. Odd that he hadn’t deigned to receive the woman he loved enough to marry.

  But then, he doubted Lord Robert was capable of that tender emotion. His father the former Lord Wakenoak certainly hadn’t been. Jamie was living proof of that.

  He circled around to the house again, settled himself for a long wait. Lord Robert had to trip up sometime, and he wanted to be there, manacles in hand, when it happened. But if he hadn’t laid eyes on the fellow by the time the sun set, he fully intended to stop by the Duke of Emerson’s fine townhouse. Lady Emily was playing with fire, and he didn’t like the thought of her getting burned. Perhaps a word of warning would be enough.

  But he wouldn’t have wagered on it.

  Chapter 5

  Emily saw nothing further of James Cropper as the carriage rolled away from the square. With her aunt nodding across from them, she wasn’t even comfortable discussing the matter with Daphne. That didn’t stop her friend from trying.

  “Why do you think he was there?” she whispered, eyes watching Lady Minerva’s bowed head. The peacock feather in her bonnet had fallen lower, threatening to touch her pointed nose each time her chin came up.

  “He’s a Bow Street Runner,” Emily reminded her, equally watchful. “He could be investigating anyone on the square.”

  “Oh.” Daphne sighed, shoulders slumping. “I must be reading too many of Ariadne’s manuscripts. I was so looking forward to the fact that you might have an admirer.”