Silver Sea (3 page)

"But what of Frakes-Hogg?" Nicholai said in low tones. "Has he not threatened you?"

She shrugged, eyes flashing. "I was a
little
afraid when I wrote to you, but I have since realized that Walter is a coward. I am not afraid of him, but he is afraid of
me
—and the damage I could do his reputation!"

"For God's sake, Adrienne!"

"Never mind." Her pretty chin set in a hard line. "I have decided to accept another post. I will be able to leave London and Walter will have no idea where I've gone. There's no need to worry from this moment forward."

"What's this all about?"

"I have been offered a wonderful position as a companion to Lady Thomasina Harms, the ancient widowed mother of that exceedingly handsome dandy, Huntsford Harms." She gave Nicholai a grin. "Perhaps he will fall madly in love with me at first sight, propose, and take me off your hands, Papa!" Noting that he was not amused by this sally, Adrienne hastened to add, "I'm only teasing. Lady Harms has informed me that, should I accept her offer of employment, we will depart immediately for her grand estate in Hampshire, where we shall languish for weeks—"

"I thought you'd be dead bored by such a routine," he put in.

"This is different. I will be
paid
for my boredom, thus maintaining my independence. And Harms Castle has one of the most extensive libraries in all of England! I shall immerse myself in the role of scholar."

It all sounded utterly mad to Nicholai. "What about this fellow Huntsford Harms? If he is there, and his mother is a decrepit widow, you'll find yourself in a compromising position again, my dear."

"I was only teasing, Papa. Huntsford Harms will doubtless be ensconced for the entire Season in her ladyship's house in Cavendish Square, thrilled to death to have his mother out of the way so that he can indulge himself in peace. You know how self-absorbed the nobility are." Adrienne waved a hand airily.

He blinked, waiting.

"In any event, I can take care of myself. Haven't I proven that yet?" She jumped up and stood before the pier glass, smoothing her blue spencer and white muslin skirts. "Now I must go, Papa. I have an appointment with Lady Harms to deliver my decision to become her companion after all. She'll be delighted!"

He put a large sum of money into her reticule. "Indulge me, won't you? Buy yourself some new gowns."

"If it will make you feel better, Papa. Thank you!"

Adrienne was tying the ribbons of her chipstraw bonnet when a knock sounded at the door. In the hallway, a footman delivered an envelope with her name on it, and Nicholai watched as his daughter broke the seal.

"Rather odd, isn't it?" he said. "Who would know that you are here?"

Her eyes moved rapidly over the paper, then she laughed with false gaiety and tore it into pieces. "Oh, Papa, it's nothing. People in London are very odd. They love to send mysterious messages to amuse themselves, but it's just a game." With that, Adrienne tossed the bits of paper into the bottom of her father's fireplace, then sought to distract him with an embrace. "Do stop worrying about me and begin packing for your journey home to Mother. She needs you far more than I do!"

Nicholai stood at the window, watching until she had emerged from the hotel onto St. James and climbed gracefully into a hack. When it started off into the crush of vehicles, Nicholai crouched in front of the sitting room fireplace and picked up the pieces of his daughter's note. Several minutes later he had fit the tiny squares together and read:

Lock your doors, strumpet!

I mean to make you pay, and you know how!

* * *

Oxford Street was jammed with the vehicles of well-to-do patrons who, attended by servants, were fluttering among the shops.

From her open hack, Adrienne found herself staring at window displays of linen-drapers, haberdashers, silversmiths, and silk mercers. She cared little about fashion but adored objects of real beauty, and at that moment, she was desperate for a distraction. Adrienne felt as if her problems—the vengeful Walter Frakes-Hogg, her father's displeasure, and the impending interview with Lady Thomasina Harms—were coiling about her like a python.

She shivered at the thought, "A python!" she murmured. "How hideous!"

Deliverance intervened. Her eye was drawn to a tasteful display in the window of E. Ralna, Fanmaker, where Adrienne beheld a true work of art. The fan was an exquisite concoction of ivory, embroidered silk, and lace. One glimpse in passing was not enough.

"Coachman!" she called, leaning out the window in a most indelicate fashion. "I must go into the fanmaker's—there!—this
instant!"

The fellow assumed that a crisis was in the offing and yelled to the phaeton that was approaching on the left, between his hack and the raised flagstone walkway. When Adrienne's coachman attempted to cut off the phaeton, its raven-haired driver would not give way, and the confused horses reared back, whinnying in confusion.

"Are you trying to cause an accident?" the dark-haired man shouted angrily. "Get out of my way!"

"My mistress desires to reach that shop!"

"And why should that piece of news interest me?"

Adrienne, perceiving the problem, interceded. "You there, coachman!" she addressed the phaeton driver. For emphasis, she leaned farther out, so he would be sure to see her, and pointed her delicate parasol at him. "Do be a good fellow and let us over, won't you?"

One of his eyebrows flew up, then he gave a harsh laugh. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, miss, which I do not happen to share. This road is not your possession!"

Outraged by his rudeness, Adrienne shocked her own driver by jumping out of the hack and pushing her way through the crush to reach the side of the phaeton. Still pointing the parasol, she stared up at the scoundrel, her cheeks hot with color.

"You, sir, are horrid! Has no one ever taught you to show respect for ladies?" She didn't like the sound of her own voice, or the things she was saying, but he'd pushed her past reason.

"Is there a lady present?" He caught her parasol and pulled it from her hand. "Stop aiming that weapon at me."

In spite of her mounting temper, Adrienne noticed the driver's compelling sea-blue eyes and the crisp, expertly tied cravat that set off a deeply tanned visage. It was even more maddening to perceive the laughter that lurked just behind his reprimand. Was he really a common coachman?

"I do not wish to waste another moment of my time with the likes of you, sir." Adrienne tried to salvage the scraps of her dignity. Head high, she turned and walked coolly to the fanmaker's window.

Eugene Ralna himself came scurrying out to greet her. Spectacles bobbed on his long, thin nose. "Ah, it's young Lady Adrienne, is it not? I still remember the day last autumn when you accompanied your mother to my humble establishment. How may I serve you? Have you come to choose a fan on her behalf?"

Hoping that the odious man in the phaeton was watching, Adrienne let the fanmaker fawn over her. "I have business of my own, Mr. Ralna. In passing, I could not help admiring this exquisite creation in your window."

"Ah! You have flawless taste, just like your mother!" He smiled broadly. "That fan is made with the rarest ivory, fifteenth-century embroidered silk, and priceless Arles lace. Rumor has it that Marie Antoinette herself commissioned it after receiving the silk as a gift." Ralna paused, allowing his words to sink in, then murmured, "Shall we step inside for a closer look?"

"Why, the fan is part of
history
!" Wide-eyed, Adrienne had turned to follow the elderly man, when she was distracted by a tap on her shoulder. A backward glance revealed the phaeton driver's face, and she found that the sight of him made her furious. "Leave me alone," she hissed.

"Don't tell me that you made all that fuss, disrupted traffic, and endangered my horses over a bloody
fan
?" came his acid reply.

Adrienne refused to look back. "A brute like you would not understand. Do not speak to me again."

She had progressed several steps and was about to precede Eugene Ralna into the shop when the voice she despised called out, "Did you intend to make a
gift
to me of your parasol?"

Whirling, Adrienne met his mocking eyes and watched as he held out her parasol. The frilly thing looked ridiculous in his male hand. Did he mean for her to walk over and retrieve it? An instant later the parasol came sailing through the air toward her, and somehow she reached out and caught it. Her tormentor laughed, then bowed low.

"Don't let me keep you from your urgently important
fan
inspection," he taunted, and returned to his high-perch phaeton.

Adrienne hurried past Eugene Ralna, into the safety of his shop. Meanwhile, outside on sunlit Oxford Street, two young women were tittering as they stood, with a lady's maid, in front of the haberdasher's shop and discussed the impertinent rake who had caused Adrienne Beauvisage to blush to the roots of her chestnut hair.

"Isn't that Nathan Raveneau?" the first girl whispered.

"Definitely," her friend agreed. "I have heard the most outrageous stories about him from my sister and her friends. Since he returned from the West Indies, he's been setting London society on its ear!"

Not to be outdone, the first girl pronounced, "My cousin told me that everyone has taken to calling him the 'Scapegrace'!" Just then Nathan Raveneau seemed to sense their scrutiny and turned his head to stare at the two gossiping girls. They went pale, then pink, and scampered away like frightened bunnies.

Chapter 2

"I don't know why I bother to come here any more," Nicholai Beauvisage muttered under his breath as he looked around White's Club. "Nothing's the same as it was, and even if it were, I'm too old for this nonsense."

Raggett, the proprietor of the legendary gentlemen's establishment, brought him a brandy. "I was not aware that the club had changed since your last sojourn in London."

"You know perfectly well what I mean. Brummell and Byron have exiled themselves in Europe, and even the Regent is perpetually under a cloud of gloom since the death of his daughter in childbirth. For years the bucks of St. James have been allowed to behave like a lot of spoiled children, but the pleasure's gone out of it now, don't you think?"

"Not for everyone, sir," Raggett replied, inclining his head toward the green baize tables where an assortment of fops, young and old, continued their endless party. As the host, it was his task to help each guest relax and join in the fun. Noting the approach of Nathan Raveneau, Raggett seized the opportunity. "Don't sink into the doldrums yet, sir! Here's our young sea captain, Raveneau, back from the West Indies, and perfectly unspoiled as far as I can see."

Nicholai perked up. "Raveneau?"

"Indeed, sir. He's a man after your own heart." Raggett decided not to mention that all the dandies at White's were fascinated by the mysterious Raveneau who partook of society's sophisticated pleasures only on occasion and followed none of its rules. People were calling him the Scapegrace. Raggett gestured toward the younger man and smiled. "You're back from your latest pirate skirmishes, I see, sir, and looking very fit!"

Staring as if he'd seen a ghost, Nicholai exclaimed, "My God, you are the image of your father! Do you remember me? I am Nicholai Beauvisage, an old friend of both your parents."

"Of course I remember!" Nathan's face lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "When I was a boy, six perhaps, your wife sailed on my family's brigantine from America to England... searching for you, as I recall. The fair Lisette was my first love, and I hoped that she would come to her senses and decide not to marry you."

Nicholai's smile widened. "Infatuation with Lisette would be a noble beginning for any lad! Good God, that was twenty-five years ago! Come, sit, and tell me about your parents. I know that they keep a house in London, but I have been so embroiled in the affairs of my wayward daughter during my fortnight here that I've had no chance to call on old friends."

Explaining that his parents, Andre and Devon Raveneau, were at home in Connecticut, Nathan elaborated, "I am not even staying at our London home myself. I don't want to trouble the staff to fuss over only one person, and I spend more and more of my year in the West Indies. Since I don't even know how long I'll be in London, it's easier for me to put up at a hotel—"

"If I remember my own tendencies at your age, I might venture to guess that you also like your privacy and prefer not to have your parents' servants hovering at all hours?"

They laughed, finished their brandies, and decided to sup together. In the dining room they ordered champagne and turbot, which was served with turtle soup, boiled potatoes, pickles, smelts, and peas.

"I'll never get used to English food," Nathan remarked.

"Do you know Captain Gronow?" Nicholai's green eyes danced with mischief. "He advises putting a bit of everything onto your fork at once. Claims that technique enhances the tastes."