Raven's Ransom (3 page)

“No, yes, oh ... but how I
wish
I were with them! You read it.”

Lily thrust a letter into Mrs. Bartlett’s hand. The housekeeper took her
pince nez
from her pocket and slowly read the words.

“Good heavens! Has the child run mad? It sounds like something out of one of those dreadful novels you ladies persist in reading! Is there anything more intelligible from Miss Primrose?”

“Yes, but it is not half so informative. Oh, Mrs. Bartlett! To think I chose not to go to Hookhams today! It is really too bad!”

“You should be thanking your lucky stars. Let me see the letter from Miss Primmy before I speak to your grandfather about calling in the runners.”

“Bow Street? Oh, but that is famous!”

“Hmmph!” The housekeeper did not bother to reply. Rather, she extended her hand for the missive and waved the under butler away rather crossly.

“Go, Hammond! I cannot think of menus when I am all at sixes and sevens!” She smoothed out the single folded wafer and nodded crisply. Primrose, at least, wrote legibly.

“Well!” Mrs. Bartlett sounded reassured. “How very like Daisy to make a pother out of nothing! Highwaymen indeed! Very likely she is suffering from indigestion and merely daydreaming her time way. I shall set about decocting some soothing syrup of burgundy and rye.”

Lily looked gloomy. “Yes, no doubt it is all a hum! I shall scold Daisy dreadfully when she returns. It is
wicked
to tease me so!”

“Indeed, dear. Now remove, will you, that glum look from your countenance. It does not do your high good looks any credit at all.”

Lily needed no second telling, especially since the butler was announcing a fresh set of eager-looking suitors. He was preceded by a housemaid carrying an enormous array of cowslips and roses, thus adding substance to Mrs. Bartlett’s muttered prediction that Lord Raven’s home would soon look like nothing short of a hothouse.

Lord Raven tossed on his pillows querulously. “Richmond, if you do not tell me what is going on below stairs, I shall turn you off without a character!”

This threat held no terrors for the strong-minded valet, who’d spent most of his working life in Lord Raven’s ill-tempered—but thoroughly satisfactory—employ. It was a threat he heard a dozen times or more in a working day, but not one, he was perfectly certain, that ever would be dispatched. Lord Raven, despite his perverse temper, was too much the man of honor.

Now he stepped over to the bedstead, wiped the crusty old face with a warm, wet sponge, and muttered, soothingly, that the earl would doubtless be well pleased with the shenanigans that was turning his well-ordered home into a state of chaos.

“Well?” The earl’s bellow came out as a wheeze, but Richmond understood his intention perfectly. He stepped over to the highly polished ebony bed stand and with a flourish removed the
Morning Post,
which sat upon it crisply.

“I fancy
this
must have something to do with the commotion below stairs.”

“Ah.” The earl’s eyes were bright as he regarded the paper with interest. “So you have seen the insert?”

“Indeed I have, sir! As have, no doubt, the whole of London society together with a great deal of seedier undesirables.”

“They shall be weeded out.” The earl waved his hand dismissively. “Well, why are you dawdling in that reprehensible fashion? Let me see!”

Richmond opened the paper with practiced ease and flicked over the pages until he came to the item that had at
once
attracted his critical eye. So useful that he, like Mrs. Bartlett, was the type of superior servant who could both read and write.

“Ah.” The earl nodded in rare satisfaction. “Perfectly worded. I am surprised. That Anchorage person is a scoundrel.”

“He is your lawyer, sir,” Richmond objected mildly.

“Pshaw!” The earl made a rather dismissive gesture. Nevertheless, Richmond could tell he was pleased.

“So what is happening? I wager a dozen young men are squirming out of the woodwork.”

“Oh, easily that, my lord! Your announcement is the talk of the Ton. If I may say so, sir, you are a wicked old man. ”

This pleased the earl tremendously, for he offered Richmond a sweetmeat before demanding to speak to Primrose.

“I fear you cannot, my lord! She was abducted by a knave.”

“What?”
The earl turned purple and sat up with sudden vigor.

“Indeed. You are not to concern yourself, sir, for by all accounts she and Miss Daisy have been rescued.”

“Ah.” The earl’s unscrupulous eyes twinkled. “By a gentleman, I presume?”

“Oh, no, my lord! By a cutpurse.”

The face darkened once more. Richmond’s tone was bland as he dusted some flecks of fluff off his lord’s heavy brocade.

“You are gammoning me!”

“Indeed, no! Mrs. Bartlett had it off Miss Daisy herself. Evidently the man has some credentials to his credit . . .”

“These being?”

“He kisses rather expertly . . .”

“Richmond!” This time the earl’s wheeze was replaced by a roar. The valet blinked.

“My lord?”

“Send for Mrs. Bartlett! There is no dealing with you!”

“Very well, my lord.” Richmond bowed and departed the room in haste. He knew, with the certainty of long service, that he was in danger of having a potted plant hurled at his head. He permitted himself a faint grin. The earl’s quirk of madness might be the very thing to raise his spirits and set him on his feet again.

 

 

The “cutpurse” had little difficulty finding a private parlor for the two ladies, who despite their very best efforts to skip alongside the horses, still found themselves drenched to the skin, their merry bonnets in ruins, and their fashionable half boots all but soaked. Still, they maintained the best of spirits, especially when confronted with a hearty meal of sauteed chicken livers, roast dumplings with apple sauce, and a generous helping of minted lamb.

The waiters were tumbling over themselves to help, the innkeeper on such pins to please that his ingratiating manner became rather intrusive until the cutpurse wisely shut the door in his face. Primrose raised her brows at this decided action, for certainly there was not the necessary three-inch gap to preserve their combined reputations. Still, she decided, dining with a gentleman masquerading as a cutpurse was proving a novel experience. One quirkish enough, she felt, to risk a little flexibility in observing the conventions. There was no doubt in the elder Miss Chartley’s mind, you see, that Barnacle Jack was a gentleman. True, his manners were outrageous and his flirtatious style quite beyond the pale, but there was a certain directness of manner that pleased. If he was not a gentleman born, she was no judge of anything.

Daisy, of course, had no such dampening suspicion. On the contrary, she was quite enraptured with her roguish villain, something that disturbed the perceptive Miss Primrose a little. Adventures were one thing, but attaching too much significance to a chance encounter quite another. Relieved, she noted that the Raven chaise had arrived, an abominably ostentatious thing, gilded in gold with vivid blue wheels and an interior of matching hue. Even the plush squabs were of royal blue velvet, commissioned only recently in keeping with current fashion.

The earl, when not upon his deathbed, enjoyed squandering his quite
inordinately
indecent fortune. Lily bravely helped him. Primrose sighed. There was no hoping, now, that they would be able to glide out unremarked. The White Dragon would probably be speculating about their noble visitors for
weeks.

She nodded to Daisy, who looked anything but noble in her clinging gown. It becomingly revealed her many feminine perfections, a fact that Barnacle Jack did not mind in the least.

“Wretched man! You need not look so smug!” Primrose frowned reprovingly at his impudence.

For answer, she received a wide-eyed grin and a quite unabashed compliment on her
own
high good looks, which served to make her crosser still.

“Flummery, sir! Now say farewell to Daisy, for I suspect we shall not meet again.”

“No?” The words were soft and rather whimsical. Primrose glanced at him sharply, her tone unusually firm.

“No!”

Daisy sighed. “How I
wish
you were not a cutpurse!”

“How contrary of you! I could have sworn you desired the reverse this morning. No, that was a highwayman. But of course, I double as a highwayman at night.”

“Don’t be absurd, sir! I could not have wished such a thing! Well, perhaps I did, but that was before we were acquainted! Can you not reform, sir? I would not like to see you hang from a noose.”

Barnacle Jack’s eyes sparkled with merriment. “Indeed, no! I have always found that particular prospect singularly unappealing! As to reforming . . .” He shrugged. “I am a rogue at heart.”

“Probably the truest thing you have uttered all day,” Primrose remarked under her breath. The cutpurse regarded her with a certain amused sympathy.

“Hush, you shall disillusion the infant and I shall be
quite
overset!”

He turned from her and smiled quite deliciously at Daisy. “I shall help you into your carriage and beg your direction. Then, on a moonless night—or no, perhaps the moon shall be full—I shall be heard riding across the moors proclaiming your name.”

“Daisy?” Daisy giggled, though her round eyes widened at the beguiling tone.

“I wish my mother had named me Ariel or Athena, or something heroic! Even Camellia or
Rose
would have been more suitable.”

“Well, it just so happens that I adore Daisies.” Armand pushed back the guilty thought that he hadn’t set eyes on a daisy for years, and if he had, he would not have known it from a petunia or a common garden variety iris. Still, his words seemed to be having the desired effect, for the younger Miss Chardey was beaming at him with starlit eyes.

“Our direction is ...”

“Daisy!” Primrose looked shocked. “Have you no decorum? You are worse than Lady!”

“She is quite right, you know.” The cutpurse put his finger to Daisy’s protesting lips. “It would never do to divulge such secrets! You have no idea that you can trust me. Indeed, I hardly know whether I can trust
myself.
This last was directed apologetically at Primrose. She stared at him hard, then smiled, a sudden softening pity entering into her expressive eyes.

“Doubtless our paths shall cross again,
Barnacle
Jack!” She stressed his name slightly satirically, causing his lips to twitch appreciatively.

“Ah.” He grinned as he realized he was being given tacit permission to seek them out if he could.

“May we recompense you for the meal and the mail charges?”

Dark eyes flashed scornfully. “Do you seek to insult me?”

“Felons are not notoriously plump in the pocket.”

“Oh!” He was reminded of his ridiculous role. “I prigged two
prodigiously
fat purses only this morning. I shall be rich, therefore, at least until sunrise tomorrow. Go, whilst the rain has stopped. Tell your man I have handed the bays over to the inn’s ostler. He will await your convenience.”

Daisy smiled. “You are thoughtful! Not at
all
what I would expect from . . . from . . .” She blushed, for she hesitated to call him a common thief.

Lord Valmont’s eyes darkened disgracefully. Then, without warning, he whisked the bemused young lady off her feet and kissed her with practiced ease. When he released her, Daisy’s head was spinning and she looked quite liable to swoon.

“You are
more
than a rogue, sir!
Look
what you have done!” Primrose clicked her tongue crossly.

He grinned. “It would have been
such
a shame to disappoint her.” He pushed one of Daisy’s amber gold ringlets aside and addressed her in thrilling tones. “You see, Miss Chartley, I
am
a villain!” Whereupon he kissed her fingers—they had somehow or other got themselves ungloved—winked at Primrose, and strode from the room without a further word.

 

 

The house, when the sisters returned to it, was in an uproar. The first thing they noticed, as they hurried upstairs to change their rain-soaked garments, was that there were posies all about the place, large bouquets sending heavenly fragrances in all directions. Daisy stopped to smell a few, and to call for some larger vases. Flowers were her passion and she could not
bear
to see them crammed stiffly in ornamental bouquets.

It was Primrose, then, ascending the stairs, who almost collided with a striking-looking Lily in a walking dress of smart military style.

“Primrose, I shall never forgive you for adventuring without me, but you shall not
believe
the excitements we have had today! Lord Holden, Lord Witherspoon, Captain Stanley, and Sir Lancelot Danvers all left cards; Mr. Stanridge has been composing sonnets—quite horrible, really, but still they celebrate my eyes so I cannot help liking them just a smidgen—and we have had
two
proposals of marriage!” On this dramatic note, she clasped her hands in glee and awaited, breathless, her sister’s response.

It was indulgent. She kissed Lily’s forehead and brushed away some of the dark, silk strands that had escaped their rather grown-up topknot.

“Gracious, Lily, you quite overshadow all
our
tame adventures! And who, may I ask, is
we?”

“We?” Lily looked puzzled.

The elder Miss Chartley endeavored to be patient, not too hard a task, for she loved Lily dearly, despite a robust innocence coupled with a hearty narcissistic streak that bordered, at times, on conceit. But then, she
was
so lovely! She had sumptuous dark hair that, when loosened from the topknot, fell about her shoulders and almost down to her waist in a positively abundant display of shining luster. Her eyes were sultry, a deep green that whispered of promises and was bordered by long, ebony lashes with distinguished brows as accents. Her complexion was creamy, with just the faintest hint of rose touching the high lines of her cheekbones. She stared, now, in blank incomprehension.

Primrose decided to spell her meaning out. “You said
we
had received two proposals of marriage. Do you mean you and I or you and Daisy or all of us collectively?” This last was meant only as a little satirical humor, but turned out to be the closest to Lily’s bright-spirited meaning.

“Oh, any of us will do!” Lord Darnley and Gresham were quite specific about that point.

“Well, that hardly sounds specific to me!” Primrose continued her ascent up the stairs. “Does Grandfather know?”

“Of course, he received them! He has been chortling quite disgustingly ever since! Gave them a regular flea in the ear—Betty heard him and reported it to Mrs. Bartlett, and she—in confidence of course—”

“Of course.” Primrose smiled. Her sister missed the irony and continued happily “—told me!”

“Well! And what did she tell?”

Miss Chartley had arrived at her chamber.

“Oh, he was in high fettle, led them on preposterously, listened to Lord Darnley’s dowry proposal and Lord Gresham’s declaration of undying love—then guffawed rudely in their faces and told them that if his granddaughters were such gap straws as to want to marry such pathetic specimens of masculine pulchritude, he would not cast a rub in the way.”

Primrose chuckled.

“Mrs. Bartlett must have most faithfully recounted events, for I can hear him using those terms exactly!”

“Oh,
no!
Mrs. Bartlett said he was using some hideous oaths but she could no sully my ears by repeating them.”