The Fairest of Them All (11 page)

“I would not be surprised.”

“Well, I was. Furthermore, the Seven may just be boys but there is something sinister about them.”

“They are boys who have grown up quickly.”

“And not well,” she agreed. “They took me aside and informed me I had to pay a ‘tribute' to them to be in their territory. They said I already owed them a half a guinea but the price keeps rising. And they know everything. They know that I was receiving invitations today to all the best houses and parties. Their leader, Leo, threatened to see me ruined. He wants a hundred pounds from me now. I don't even have five let alone a hundred. He says he'll wait until I'm a duchess. But I know what will happen. He'll demand more for his silence. It will never end. And if Sarah discovers what I've done, she will be angry. I fear telling her because she has given up so much to help me.”

Her shame was genuine. She could meet his eye but she was deeply embarrassed.

He sat for a moment, taking her measure. What she had done had been harebrained. He would like a strong conversation with this Lady Baldwin who had pushed Lady Charlene into the scheme.

However, there had been times when he had been desperate in his life. He'd done things of which he was not proud. Leaving his family without a word of warning was possibly one of them.

She placed her elbows on the table and lowered her head into her hands. The action brushed her hat back and Jack could see the white gold of her hair. “I owe so much money. I'm no different than my father.” She looked up at him. “I now understand how inconsolable he must have felt. I feel foolish and backed into a corner. I am the last person who should become a duchess.”

“You have been unwise,” Jack agreed. “The question is are you going to do what the Seven want you to do.”

“No, I can't. It is impossible. And I don't know what will happen.”

Jack came to a decision. He liked Charlene Blanchard. He believed she told him the truth. It had called for courage to try to take her life into her own hands. She was fortunate that something worse hadn't befallen her.

“Take me to meet this Seven,” Jack said. “I would talk to Leo.”

“I won't. Then you will be involved in this.”

“I already am. My brother's intentions toward you are serious. You do have a chance of ­becoming a duchess and you might make a good one.” He would not tell her about the bargain he had struck with his twin. She did not need to know he was motivated by his need for the duke's help.

“If I don't steal for the Seven, they will see me to Newgate.”

“They will not feel that way after I have talked to them.”

“It isn't just them. Leo answers to those ranked higher than himself.”

“Who are still criminals,” Jack reminded her. “If they threaten you, we can threaten right back. I do know this—­if you do what they want and steal for them, sooner or later they will abandon you to your fate.”

“So I should take my punishment now?” she asked in a small voice.

“No, you should take me to them now. Come.” He pushed back his chair and stood.

Her eyes worried, she joined him.

“Lead the way,” he said.

The crowd of men had grown larger in the taproom. He was amused by the way Lady Charlene pushed her way through with the same boldness of any lad.

Outside, the day was quickly passing. Lady Charlene led him back from where he came to one of those alleys throughout London where it was difficult for a man his size to travel, but Jack managed. They came out on a courtyard with wood stacked against the walls, broken chairs, and the other rubbish.

All was quiet.

“Leo,” Lady Charlene called.

There was no answer.

Jack poked around in some of the barrels and moved the wood around.

“They were here,” she told him. “I've talked to Leo twice here. They may be watching us.” She took a step toward him. “Please, you must believe me.”

“I do. I saw them escorting you away from your home. But also, look here.” He pointed out the shoeprints. “One has lost the heel to his shoe. You can track his movements. And here is a bit of hair.” He pulled the strand from a barrel. “Those prints are fresh. Someone was here not that long ago. This may be one of several places they use to gather. They will be back.” He turned away. “Let me take you home.”

“Oh,” she said as if remembering. “I've been gone way too long.” She started for the alley.

“Is your aunt home?”

“No, but I left Lady Baldwin sleeping in the front room. I need to fix a supper for us and I hope she hasn't woken and started searching for me.”

They hurried then. His stride was long and she managed to keep up with him. They did not run into street boys on the way to Mulberry Street. The Seven were like an Indian tribe with London as their forest. They knew how to blend in.

Catching them would give Jack great pleasure.

When they were close to her home, she stopped at an alley. “I am fine on my own from here.” She paused and then said, “Thank you for your help. I was quite lost back there.” Again, she hesitated, this time thoughtfully, and then added, “I feel I owe the duke the truth. He should know I don't make wise decisions.”

“Few of us do all the time,” Jack said. “­Including him. No, I advise you to not say a word to him. Let me see what I can do first.”

Even as he spoke, he wondered why he was making such a suggestion. Gavin deserved honesty about a woman he believed he wanted to marry. But would Gavin understand
why
people were pressed to make desperate choices? And Jack did believe she'd not only found herself in over her head, but was truly repentant. He could not act as her judge.

A slow, rueful smile curved her lips. “And you will save us all?”

“That is my intention.”

She didn't believe him. Right now, he sensed she was certain no one could save her from her ­foolishness. He would just have to prove her wrong.

And she seemed to understand that was exactly what he planned to do. “Be careful, Whitridge, and thank you.”

On those words, she ducked her head and ­hurried down the alley before Jack could answer.

Chapter Eleven

L
ady Baldwin was still asleep when Char entered the house and checked on her. She tiptoed up the stairs and changed her clothes, marveling that in spite of all that had happened, no one knew she'd been gone.

Well,
someone
knew—­Whitridge.

And he'd given her hope that he could sort out the terrible mess she had made of her life.

Trust was not easy for her. Trust made a person vulnerable and Char did not like feeling defenseless. Of course, it had been her pride and her fear that had led her into the difficult position she found herself in now.

Char prepared their supper, setting aside a plate for Sarah and covering it with a towel. She woke Lady Baldwin and the two of them had an easy evening.

The next morning, Lady Baldwin took herself to her daughter's house. Her intent was to return that evening and chaperone Char to Lord Vetter's ball. The duke had sent word he would pick them up in his coach.

After she left, Sarah reported that for a reasonable price the wardrobe mistress would help them with another two dresses. “We shall change the trims and they will look like new. They will be in the Greek style, and a stitch here, some ribbon there, and no one will know they are the same dress.”

“How much will it cost?” Char asked.

“Enough,” Sarah said. “We will be spending the last of the money your uncle Davies sent, but it is for a good cause. Besides, he has more than made up for what he owed us. Now that he has decided to honor his commitment to you, he shall continue to do so again next month. Our letters to him were not all for naught.”

Char heard Sarah's wishful thinking, her planning. Here was the chance to tell her aunt the truth.

She didn't, and Char felt remarkably guilty.

The duke sent a lovely bouquet later that afternoon. This time, the arrangement of pink roses was a bit more circumspect than the red roses that still took up Sarah's desk. He'd sent a card with it but all it said was that the duke would arrive for her and Lady Baldwin at half past eight.

“It will be a late night,” Sarah predicted. “Perhaps you should see if you can nap a bit.”

Char was happy to escape to her room. Her ­conscience was heavy around Sarah. She ­surprised herself when she lay down and did sleep, although her sleep was restless. She dreamed that she was being chased by the Seven. They yelled at her for money and threw vibrant blue butterflies at her, only the butterflies did not fly away. Instead, they fell to the ground and lay dead, their lovely wings wide open.

She woke disoriented and a bit edgy . . . and for whatever reason, her first thought went to Whitridge. She wondered if she would see him this evening.

When it came time to prepare, Char wore the dress she had worn to Baynton's ball. They had reasoned that few would remember her in it since the ball had ended abruptly.

While Char had napped, Sarah had braided silver ribbons together and added the trim under the bodice and around the neckline. Sarah then styled Char's hair, just as she had the night of the first ball, sweeping it up and threading silver ribbon through it as well.

“You shall remind of him of Artemis,” Sarah said.

Char nodded. She did look well and wondered what Whitridge would say. He'd probably make a quip about her not being in breeches. Well, it was time he saw her as a woman—­

Sarah gave Charlene's shoulders a small hug bringing her back to the moment. She whispered, “You are lovely. Don't ever doubt yourself. The man will be smitten.”

Char stood, suddenly nervous. Apprehensive.

Placing a hand on Char's arm, Sarah said, “Here I thought you might appreciate this.” She was dressed in her maid's costume and pulled a small vial from the pocket of her apron. “It is ­perfume. I purchased it years ago and I've ­nurtured it over time. Toilette water is fine but for tonight, you ­deserve the finest.” She opened the stopper. Char took a sniff.

“That is lovely. What is it?”

“The oil of roses and apricots. George had cast me as Cleopatra. It was my first lead role and I believed I deserved a treat. I adore the scent.” She dabbed a touch on the inside of Charlene's wrists and on her neck right beneath her ears. “Your body heat will add to the scent.”

“Thank you,” Char said, pleased. She took ­Sarah's hand. “I wish you were going with me tonight.”

“No, you don't. With our luck we would walk into Lord Vetter's and there would be that trio of lords I told you about when I was in the bawdy melodrama. They would recognize me, start making crude ­comments, and the duke would run. At this time in your courtship, it is not wise to raise any concerns, such as a bastard actress for an aunt—­”

Char stopped her by pressing her fingers to ­Sarah's lips. “Do not put yourself down. I love you. I love all that you have done for me. You've ­sacrificed so much. I will make it up to you ­someday.”

“I don't expect that.”

“I know, but I wish to do so. Can you understand?”

“I do. However, you have your own life to live. Do not worry about me. I've survived this long.”

“You have set a good example to me,” Char confessed. “Every time I thought to break down in self-­pity, I would think of you and endeavor to be as brave as you.”

Sarah placed her hand against Char's cheeks. “Those are the kindest words anyone has ever said to me. Now, go capture the heart of a duke.” Char gave her aunt a good, strong hug.

Just as they went downstairs, Lady Baldwin arrived wearing what she referred to as her peacock colors. She was all blues and greens with actual peacock feathers sticking out of her pert chapeau.

“My daughter isn't speaking to me,” she said with great excitement. “She is so jealous I am going to this ball, she cannot utter one word. Not even to criticize my dress.”

They heard the sound of horses. Lady Baldwin pulled aside the closed curtains in the front room. “It's him. Oh my. Oh. My.”

“What?” Char demanded.

“You shall see,” was Lady Baldwin's giddy reply. “Come in here.” She waved Char toward her. “We don't want him to enter the house and find us all crowded around the door.”

Char didn't see what difference it made but she deferred to the older woman.

A knock sounded.

Sarah had taken her mobcap from where she'd tucked it into her apron sash. She pulled it over her bold red hair, nodded to Char and Lady Baldwin—­and then she opened the door.

The Duke of Baynton stepped into the hall on a wave of February air and, for a moment, all Char could do was stare in awe. He was a handsome man at all times but black evening dress took his good looks to a new level, especially with a wool cloak draped over his shoulders.

His presence, his air of command, filled the house. But there was something else about him that caught Char's attention—­he smelled of winter and sandalwood. A potent combination.

Even Sarah was impressed. Char had never seen her aunt taken aback by a gentleman.

However, his gaze was on Char. She curtsied.

He bowed.

They both smiled their appreciation. He reached for her hand. “You are lovely.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are quite handsome as well.”

Her compliment startled a laugh out of him.

“Did I say something amusing?” she asked, confused.

He took both of her gloved hands. “You said nothing wrong. It is that you are candid and open. I can't remember a time when a woman ­complimented me.”

“They have complimented you, Your Grace. They may not have done it to your face but they noticed.”

“And tonight, everyone will notice both of us. Let me help you with your cloak.” He took the ­garment from Sarah and put it on Char's ­shoulders. “My mother will be riding with us. I hope you don't mind.”

“It will be an honor,” she said, while past his shoulder she caught the sight of Sarah panto­miming her happiness.

Fortunately, Sarah changed back to dutiful maid when the duke turned for Lady Baldwin's cloak. Lady Baldwin made happy chortling sounds as he helped her with the velvet cape.

He gallantly opened the door, and Char and Lady Baldwin walked to the coach where a footman waited. Lady Baldwin climbed in first and then Char, presumably so that she could sit next to the duke.

Marcella, Dowager Duchess of Baynton, was everything a duchess should be. She had her sons' presence, only the air of authority was coupled with one of serenity. Char found herself studying her features and decided Whitridge favored her more than the duke did.

She was a tall woman with snowy white hair. Her dress was deep marine blue. She did not wear the Scots pearls this evening. Instead, she wore garnets. Their blood red set off the blue and ­sparkled in the light from the coach lamp.

“Lady Charlene, I am pleased to make your ­acquaintance.”

“I am honored, Your Grace.” She was. The woman was welcoming and warm-­spirited.

In spite of it all, Char was aware that there was one person missing. Whitridge.

She wondered what he was doing, but was wise enough not to ask.

The row of coaches waiting to release their passengers on Lord Vetter's front step seemed to stretch for a good quarter of a mile; however, the Duke of Baynton did not have to wait. They went right to the front of the line.

The duke helped all the ladies out of the coach. He offered his mother his arm, as he should, but she waved him away. “I shall walk in with Lady Baldwin. You escort Lady Charlene.”

This was a tremendous honor.

The night of Baynton's ball, Charlene had been too filled with apprehension to notice very much. However, now servants rushed forward to open doors and announce him. Lord Vetter left his own receiving line to personally welcome the duke. He bowed deeply over Char's hand.

“The reports of your beauty were not exaggerated, my lady.”

Heat rose to her cheeks and she could picture herself a princess in one of the stories her father had told her. The night was just that magical.

The house and the ballroom were not as grand as Menheim's, although the company was as ­glittering.

Mothers who had obviously been lingering by the door on the lookout for Baynton were ­visibly disappointed when they saw Charlene on his arm. He made certain that she was included in all introductions, and although he was completely proper, there was a possessiveness about him. Char was certain all sensed that he had staked his claim.

Furthermore, his mother went out of her way to include Char. “Let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Fyclan Morris,” the dowager said.

Fyclan was a handsome older gentleman that others treated with great respect. He and the duchess appeared to have a close relationship.

The dowager started to ask Char a question but Baynton stepped in between them. “I'm sorry, Mother, but they are preparing for the first dance and I must take Lady Charlene away from you. She owes me a dance.”

He offered his arm and led her to the dance floor where couples were already gathering. “I have not forgotten your promise to step on my toes,” he said.

“You should be careful what you wish for, Your Grace,” she answered, and he laughed.

“Here, Baynton,” one gentleman called, and Char found herself being introduced to Lord and Lady Rovington. They were a merry twosome and had places in their set for the duke and Char. Lord Rovington and the duke spoke to each other as old friends.

Lady Rovington quickly attempted to put Char at ease by saying, “Please call me Jane.” She leaned close. “He likes you. This is good. We all worried over him after—­you know.”

“I don't know.”

“You must know,” Jane said.

“I wish I did know,” Char answered. “I think?” she added, confused about what Jane meant.

“About his being jilted,” Jane prodded. “He was supposed to marry Elin Morris but his brother
stole
her from him.”

Char had met the duke's brother and his wife in the receiving line at the Menheim ball. They had appeared happy, and apparently the duke had no quarrel with them or else he would not have invited them. She didn't know what to make of this “friend” trading in gossip.

“Oh” was all she could manage to say and it must have been enough because Jane started ­commenting on the dress the woman behind Char was wearing.

“She wore the same dress last week,” Jane said.

Char almost said she, too, was wearing a dress twice but caught herself. She could hear Sarah advising her that there was no reason to ask for trouble.

Fortunately, the dancing started.

She and Baynton managed to not step on each other's toes. He was actually an excellent dancer, light on his feet and confident in his movements. Slowly, the tension ebbed from her body. She ­relaxed, and by the time the music came to an end, she felt she had acquitted herself very well.

Afterward, he escorted her over to where his mother was talking to friends. Lady Baldwin ­appeared happily ensconced with the matrons by the punch bowl.

The circle around Baynton began to grow. The duke was very popular, as was Mr. Morris. Men and women flocked to Baynton. He tried to keep Char close but there was almost too much going on and the conversation was not light. There was a discussion on a farm bill they needed to pass and speculation about the Continent.

If she hadn't known Baynton was important before, she would have gained the idea listening to those around him.

The evening began to feel as if it was ­happening to someone else. She was an observer, a distant bystander. She could even see herself in her pale, silvery blue gown. She saw that she was poised with a pleasant smile on her face and knew that for some mysterious reason, she wanted to run.

It wasn't that she felt out of place. The duke was doing everything he could to shepherd her . . . but
her
, the
real
her, didn't belong here. She would rather be home reading a book.