Her Wanton Wager (7 page)

Fitzwell, the long-time canine member of the household, trotted in behind Violet. He wore a scowl, which Percy didn't take too seriously. He was a pug, after all. When she bent to pet him, however, he walked past her, his snout high in the air. He circled thrice in front of the fireplace and plopped down, presenting her with a pair of cold, fawn-colored shoulders.

"What's the matter, old boy?" Percy said in surprise.

Violet hung the ensemble on the dressing screen and waved Percy over to the full-length looking glass. "With Mrs. Fines travelling, he was already in the doldrums," the maid said as she helped Percy dress. "Now with Lisbett gone as well, he's been in a downright snit."

Lisbett, the Fines' loyal housekeeper, had been called away unexpectedly to attend an ill relative. Knowing the burden this put on the small household staff, Percy said sympathetically, "Any news when she'll return?"

"Lisbett writes she'll 'ave to stay in Dorset at least a fortnight to care for 'er sister. Hold your breath now." Percy obeyed, and Violet gave a deft tug on the corset strings. "She 'opes that you're doing well, miss, and worries about you being left to your devices."

"I'm not alone. I've got Lady Tottenham to look after me."

Violet gave her a speaking glance in the mirror, and Percy hid a grin. No one had known of Tottie's tendency to tipple when she'd been hired on to chaperone Percy during Mama's absence. Now with everyone out of the house and Tottie proving rather true to her name, Percy was having a heretofore unknown taste of freedom. Which she didn't mind a bit.

"'Er ladyship's still abed. Rang twice for 'er tonic already.
Tonic
." With a grunt, Violet worked on the buttons along the back of the ivory muslin. "Where I come from, they've got other names for it."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Percy asked.

Violet finished tying the lavender sash below the bodice. She aimed a glance at the hearth, where the pug continued to lay with his head upon his paws. In a low voice, she said, "Do you think you could take 'im with you to the picnic? The beast's drivin' us mad below stairs. Last night, Cook nearly carved 'im up after 'e stole a suet puddin' from under 'er nose."

"Poor little chap. He misses Mama so," Percy murmured.

"We all do." Violet sighed, picking up a hairbrush. "Can't think why the missus had to take a trip when she hadn't for all these years."

Percy swallowed, feeling the tug of shame as well as that of the brush. She had a pretty good inkling of why Mama had needed a vacation—to get away from
her
. Since Papa had passed, she and her remaining parent had been at logger-heads over everything; no matter what she did, she could not please her mother. The failure of last Season must have been the last straw. Her throat thickened.

As she watched Violet tame her unruly tresses, she blew out a breath. Firmed her chin.

I'll make Mama proud this time around. I'll win Viscount Portland and the ton's approval. And I'll find a way to free Paul from Hunt's clutches, if it's the last thing I do.

*****

Percy and Charity made their way up the picturesque knoll away from the rest of their group. As usual, White Conduit Fields teemed with middling class folk escaping the confines of Town. The pastoral grounds offered rolling green hills and paved walks as well as tea rooms overlooking colorful gardens. Cheerful shouts rose from the cricket grounds, where matches played endlessly. Ahead of the two girls, Fitzwell jogged along the grassy ridge, stopping now and again to sniff at a wildflower.

"They hate me," Percy said in despair.

"No, they don't." With her severe, ash-brown topknot and straight brows, Charity projected a somber demeanor. Yet up close, her moss-colored eyes shone with sympathy, dominating her small, angular face. "The girls just don't know how to treat you now that you're no longer one of them."

"Have I grown horns? Sprouted another head?" From the way the others had subtly avoided her or grown quiet when she came near, Percy had
felt
like some unwanted, alien creature. "I'm still
me
, aren't I?"

"Yes, but now you circulate amongst the
ton
. For many of our sort, your situation would be considered a dream come true," Charity said matter-of-factly.

"A nightmare more the like," Percy wailed. "Now I don't fit in
anywhere.
"

At least before she'd had a place with her former classmates whose families had also gained their wealth through trade or other professions. Girls like them occupied
terra nova
as far as society was concerned: no one knew what to make of them. Rich and privileged, they had difficulty finding suitable matches within the working class. At the same time, their origins in "shop" prevented them from marrying up.

"Fitting in hasn't exactly been your forte, has it?" Charity said mildly. "Why the concern over it now?"

Given that Charity had stood by her through her countless antics at Mrs. Southbridge's, Percy did not fault the other's honesty. In fact, she admired her friend's steady, sensible temperament—and wished some of it might rub off on her.

"Because Mama thinks I'm a wicked girl. She's … ashamed of me," Percy whispered.

"Pish posh. Mrs. Fines only wants the best for you. Indeed, you should count yourself lucky to have a mama to give you guidance."

Charity's wistful tone reminded Percy that her friend had grown up without a mother, Mrs. Sparkler having succumbed to a difficult childbirth. Feeling even more wretched due to her own relatively minor complaint, Percy mumbled, "Well, when I win Viscount Portland's affections, I'll show everyone. And I shan't be a snob about it, either. I'll invite all the other girls to my wedding."

"An invitation that will no doubt turn them green with envy."

Percy aimed a rueful look at her friend. "I suppose that would be small of me?"

"Human of you," Charity said. Linking a slender arm through Percy's, she asked, "How are things progressing with his lordship, by the by?"

The image of Lord Charles' rich auburn curls and dreamy grey eyes rose in her mind's eye, accompanied by an effervescent feeling in her breast. Out of nowhere, another visage popped into her head. Her giddiness gave way to alarm at the flash of harsh, scarred features.

"Percy, dear, are you alright?"

She jerked her attention back to her friend. "Yes. I'm fine."

"So ... what about Portland?" Charity said, giving her an odd look.

"As you know, I've had other matters to deal with." Percy pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Dear God, why am I even bothered by those silly chits when Paul is in danger? It's been three days since I saw Hunt. Time is running out,"—Percy bit her lip—"and I still don't know what to do."

"I've thought it over. I believe there is only one proper course of action," Charity said.

"Yes?" Percy said hopefully.

"You must write your mama and the Marquess of Harteford. Once they know about Mr. Fines' situation, I am certain they will return home with due haste and take care of the matter."

Percy frowned. "I already told you. I promised my brother I wouldn't tell the family. He doesn't want word getting out of his troubles."

"You haven't much choice," her friend pointed out. "You already tried taking matters into your own hands, and look how that turned out. You are lucky that nothing worse happened."

Sometimes Charity could be a bit
too
sensible. Which was why Percy hadn't consulted her prior to meeting Hunt—she'd known her friend would disapprove.

"I knew what I was doing," she said, kicking at a rock in her path. "I could have handled Hunt. In fact, I have half a mind to take the wager—"

"Oh no, you don't." Charity braced her hands on her thin hips. Beneath the brim of her plain bonnet, her brows lowered, and she gave Percy a stern look. "That is precisely the kind of thinking that led to all those scrapes at Mrs. Southbridge's. Remember the time you snuck out of class to see the gypsy caravan, and I had to make all those excuses for you?"

"It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to have my fortune told," Percy protested. "Besides, I didn't miss anything important. 'Twas just an etiquette class."

The irony struck them both at once. Exchanging a look, they chuckled.

"Now that you've set your cap for Viscount Portland, I thought you meant to reform your ways," Charity said, her lips still twitching. "Ruining yourself is hardly the way to win his affection."

"You're right, of course." Percy sighed. "Writing the family
is
the wisest option."

"If all goes smoothly, they'll be back in a few weeks," the other said in encouraging tones. "'Tis best for you to wait and carry on as usual so you don't compromise your brother's situation."

Waiting was one of Percy's
least
favorite activities. "How am I supposed to attend parties and the like knowing that Paul might be in danger? What if Hunt searches him out?"

Worry pinched the other girl's waifish features. For years, Percy had suspected that her chum nursed a secret
tendre
for Paul—but Charity, being Charity, would never admit to such a thing. And much as Percy loved them both, she could not imagine a pair more opposite than her dashing, feckless brother and her unassuming, responsible friend.

"I doubt Mr. Hunt would think to look for your brother at his current location."

"But Paul will have to remain in hiding. By himself and in that horrid place. I daren't visit him again for fear of leading the fox to the chicken coop."

"You think Mr. Hunt is monitoring your movements?" Charity said, sounding aghast.

"I wouldn't put it past the man." With a shiver, Percy recalled his parting threat.
"I wish I could at least bring Paul some supplies. Foodstuffs, shaving implements, that sort of thing."

After a moment, Charity said, "I could do it. Mr. Hunt doesn't know about me."

"You? But Paul is in
Spitalfields.
Your papa would never allow it."

Charity's father owned an exclusive jewelry shop frequented by King George IV himself —a fact that garnered prestige, if not the prompt paying of accounts. The only thing Mr. Sparkler guarded more zealously than his business was his only child. Though Charity spent most of her time working at the store, she never complained about the long hours or her parent's strict rules.

"I wouldn't tell my father," Charity said, causing Percy's brows to climb. "I could say I was going to worship. The groom and my maid are sweet on each other, so they'd be happy to wait outside while I go inside the church. They won't even notice I'm gone. I could leave by the back door and hire a hackney—"

So much for
her
rubbing off on
me
.
"Goodness, I am a bad influence on you, aren't I?" Percy said. "But I wouldn't want you to risk—"

"I want to do this.
Please
let me do this."

Percy blinked at Charity's fierce tone and the resolute set of her slim shoulders, as if she were ready to march into battle. "Um, if you are absolutely certain ..."

"I am," the other said with a vehement nod.

"You'd have to be very cautious," Percy warned. "To make sure no one is following you."

"I will take every precaution. Just tell me what to do, and I will do it."

Percy studied her friend. "My brother is deuced lucky, and he doesn't even know it."

A flush stole over Charity's pale cheeks.

"All right, then," Percy continued briskly. "I liked your plan about the switch up at the church. I have a few additional suggestions, however ..."

SIX

Hands steepled, Gavin sat at his desk as John Magnus gave the report. Leaning heavily on his cane, the old man looked out with one rheumy eye; the other was covered by a black patch. As usual, Magnus' wild grey mane was uncombed and his garb patched and tattered, lending him a disheveled air.

"You've searched everywhere?" Gavin said, frowning.

"The likely places a gent like Fines would hide. I'll start on the less likely." Magnus paused, stroking his straggly beard. "It'd help if you told me why you want the cove."

"I told you. He owes me money."

"With the coin you're paying me to find him, his debt must be worth its weight in gold. You're certain there are no other details you can give me?" Magnus said shrewdly.

Gavin's policy was to give the least amount of information necessary. In this instance, however, he needed to unearth Fines soon. To his surprise and displeasure, three days had passed, and Percy had not yet returned to take him up on the wager. Well, he meant to have her one way or another; what he required was leverage, and her brother was the ticket.

Mulling it over, he said grudgingly, "Fines is connected to the Marquess of Harteford. Perhaps he is hiding at one of the Harteford's properties—though I've had those checked."

"Harteford, eh? Powerful man. Wouldn't want to tangle with him myself," Magnus said, his eye widening.

"You're not tangling with him," Gavin said. "Your job is to find Fines. Besides, you needn't worry—the marquess is touring the Continent."

Gavin had kept tabs on his enemy. Morgan must feel free as a lark flitting about French
châteaux
and Italian vineyards with his precious family. Well, the bugger had better enjoy his days of freedom because they were coming to an end.

Magnus scratched his head. "As you wish, then. Perhaps Harteford has other holdings you're not aware of. I'll make the inquiries." The wizened man hobbled to the doorway. "And Hunt?"

Gavin raised a brow.

"Heard you'll be meeting with the Covent Garden bunch soon. None of my business, but they're a bloodthirsty lot." Magnus gave him a concerned look. "Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, I always say."

"I'll keep that in mind."

After Magnus departed, Gavin found his thoughts returning to Percy. He'd been so confident that she would come to him. If he felt the bite of disappointment, he told himself it was due to the fact that she'd put a dent in his plans. His revenge just wouldn't be as ... complete without Percy. Well, he was no namby-pamby to sit by and bemoan the lack of results. Nothing in his life had come without a struggle; why expect anything different in dealing with a little hellion? Drumming his fingers against his desk, he began to strategize.