A Kiss Away From Scandal

Likewise, he had noted her grandfather’s rank before even meeting her and had come to the same conclusion. He was not the sort of fellow who dallied with female clients, especially when there were titles involved. When one was a living example of what might happen when such niceties were ignored, one did not take them lightly.

At the moment, Miss Hope sat beside him silent, cloaked and veiled, as if his very presence brought a risk of contagion. Her desire for anonymity made perfect sense. But there was something annoying in the way she had demanded it, as if she had not trusted him to protect her unless ordered to do so. It left him with the urge to strip off one of her gloves and touch her bare hand, just to see if she melted from upper-class perfection to a wailing puddle of mediocrity. Or at least tug on the curl that had been bouncing at the side of her face yesterday. This morning, it had been held in place by not just one but two hair pins, as if she was punishing it for being unruly.

Hope Strickland was the sort of woman who liked both people and things to be orderly, proper and predictable. He would likely be a great disappointment to her. Hopefully, they could manage to put their differences aside while working together. Until the matter of the entail was settled, they would be near to inseparable.

He glanced towards her and away again, hoping she had not noticed his interest. It felt as if, somewhere deep inside his head, an alarm bell was ringing. They should not be alone together. It was dangerous to her reputation and to his...

Something.

He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he knew in his bones that he shouldn’t be alone with her and it had nothing to do with society’s expectations of virtuous young ladies. He had no worries about self-control, either hers or his own. But the silence in the cab was wearing on his nerves. It made him want to converse, even though she had made it quite clear she did not want to speak to him.

He should never have requested her help. It was not as if he had to find the exact items again. He merely needed a good approximation. The American Stricklands had not spent the long years away pining for the candlesticks they meant to retrieve today. One set would be much like another to the new Earl, as long as he did not note an absence of light in the dining room.

But what the devil did the Dowager mean by an ‘oddment’? It was the only word he had deciphered in the line of scribbling near the bottom of the list. And how was he to decide which ‘blue painting’ was the correct one? Only a member of the family could guide him through the inadequate descriptions provided to him and Miss Hope Strickland was the only one willing to help.

But since she had done so begrudgingly, he had a perverse desire to see her discommoded. That was why he had chosen the worst shop on the list as their first stop. There would be almost no chance at success for it traded in the saddest of merchandise, not the sort of things likely to be found in one of England’s greatest houses. While he knew that there were better hunting grounds ahead, she would leave the shop coated in the miasma of despair that seemed to hang about the financial misfortune of others.

The carriage stopped in front of a plain door in St Giles, marked with the traditional three balls that indicated its business. He exited, offering a hand to Miss Strickland to help her to the street, while keeping a wary eye out for the cutpurses and beggars that would appear to harass the gentry.

To his surprise, she did not shrink back in terror at the riff-raff that surrounded them. But neither did she offer thanks for his assistance. Instead, she sailed imperiously past him to stand expectantly at the door, waiting for him to open it.

It was only common courtesy that he do so, but for some reason, it rankled. All the same, he opened and she passed through. And at last he was rewarded with the response he’d expected, the utter confusion of a gently bred lady who had never before shopped for someone else’s cast-offs.

She paused in the entryway as if afraid to go further. He could tell by the subtle shifting of her bonnet that her eyes were darting around the room, stunned to immobility by the cases of brass buttons and mismatched earbobs, and racks upon racks of shabby coats and fashionless gowns.

He shut the door and stepped past her. A quick scan of the room proved that none of the finer items would be found here, but he had no intention of leaving without making an enquiry, lest Miss Strickland realise he’d only come here to torture her. He rang the bell on the counter to summon the proprietor.

The man who stepped out from behind the curtained back room was every bit as fearsome as he’d hoped, a gaunt scarecrow of a fellow with one eye that did not seem to want to follow the other. It gave the impression that he could watch both his customers at the same time. At the sight of him, the girl who had been so quick to treat Gregory as her lackey now faded one step behind him, trying to disappear into his shadow.

It made him smile more broadly than he might have as he greeted the pawnbroker. ‘Good morning, my fine fellow. I am seeking candlesticks. Not just any candlesticks, mind you. I want the sort the posh types pawn when they can’t pay their gambling debts.’

The man answered with a nod and a toothless grin, then pointed wordlessly into the corner at a small display of plate.

Gregory glanced at it for only a moment, before choosing the gaudiest pair and walking back towards the counter. He felt a sharp tug on his sleeve and looked back at Miss Strickland.

‘Those are not ours,’ she whispered.

‘I thought you could not describe what we were looking for,’ he countered.

‘I cannot. But I am sure that I have never seen those in my life.’

‘Neither has Miles Strickland. He has never seen England, much less these candlesticks.’

‘That does not make them right,’ she countered. ‘Ignorance is no substitute for truth.’

Perhaps not. But in Gregory’s opinion, it made for a pretty fine excuse and had worked well in the past. ‘It is not as if we will be lying to him. He will expect to find candlesticks and we are leaving him some. He will never know the difference.’

‘But I will,’ she said.

Hadn’t Leggett said something about the sisters being the daughters of a vicar? If so, their ingrained morality was proving deeply inconvenient. ‘Your sister’s husband is not paying me enough to turn the town upside down for things that are likely lost for ever.’

‘If all that was needed was to grab the first things that came to hand, I could have done it myself.’ Noting the wary way she had watched the proprietor, he doubted that was the case. But she had no trouble standing up to Gregory, for he saw a faint flash of irritation in the brown eyes glittering behind her veil. ‘I do not know what he is paying you, but I am sure Mr Leggett did not hire you to do the job halfway. If the funds were insufficient, you should have negotiated for more when he hired you.’

For a sheltered young lady she was surprisingly perceptive. She was annoying as well. But his fee had been tripled to account for that.

He gave her a subservient smile. ‘Very well, then. I shall try harder.’

He turned back to the shopkeeper. ‘You have a very small collection for an item that is one of the first to be sold, when the gentry’s pockets are to let. Are there any others in the shop?’

The man favoured them with his wall-eyed gaze for a moment and Gregory set a coin on the counter. ‘For the inconvenience of opening your stockroom to us, good sir.’

The man pocketed the coin and stepped back, pulling the curtain to the side to let them pass.

The little room at the back of the shop was cluttered, as he expected it to be, but not without organisation. The shelves were full of more dented bird cages, tarnished teakettles and chipped vases than could be sold in a lifetime. Beneath them were an equally large number of chests, full of silver flatware and... Lo and behold, candlesticks.

He threw back the lid and lit a nearby candle to supplement the meagre light streaming from a grimy window on the back wall. Then he gestured Miss Strickland closer. ‘Here you are. If the items are to be found in this shop, you are the only one who might tell. Look for yourself.’

He had expected a shudder of distaste and the demand that he sort through the chest and display the contents to her. Instead, all her reservations fell away. She pushed back the veil and dropped to her knees on the floor beside it, digging without hesitation through the pile of dented flambeaus and sconces.

Suddenly, she sighed in surprise and turned to him with a dented pewter stick clutched in her hands. She offered it to him and reached up to push back her bonnet. Then she smoothed her hair out of the way, leaving a streak of tarnish on her soft, white brow. ‘Does it match?’

He frowned in confusion and leaned forward to look closer. The decoration she held was designed to imitate a Corinthian column, the top a square of ornate tracery. On her forehead was a small V-shaped scar with a break that matched a gap in the decoration.

‘Someone hit you with this?’ He hefted the weight of it in his hands and felt the anger rise in his gorge at the brutality of the late Earl, her grandfather.

She nodded. Then, oddly, she smiled. ‘My sister, Charity.’ Her hand dived back into the chest and pulled out the mate, which was bent at the base. ‘In response, I threw this one at her. But I missed and it hit the dining-room wall. There is still a crack in the plaster where it landed.’

He felt momentarily weak as the rage left him again. ‘That is good to know. I would hate to think that either of you had a skull thick enough to cause such damage to it.’ But if they had, it ought not to have surprised him. Hope Strickland was proving to be the most hard-headed woman he’d ever met. He doubted her sister was any different.

She was still smiling. ‘Then, Faith came and pulled both our plaits until we cried. I had forgotten all about that.’ She was looking fondly at the candlesticks, as if meeting old friends. She frowned. ‘And now, we will have to give them to a complete stranger, just because he shares our name.’

Her dark mood disappeared as quickly as it had come. She looked back up at him, so fresh and unguarded that he felt a lump rising in his throat. ‘But I remember this. It is why just any candlestick would not do. Perhaps the new Earl would not know the difference, but it would not be the same to me.’

‘I understand.’ He stared at the smudge on her forehead in fascination. He wanted to wipe it away, smoothing a finger over that small, white vee in wonder. A flaw should make her uglier, not more fascinating. Was it raised, he wondered, or smooth? A single touch, under the guise of cleaning away the grime, would tell him.

He cleared his mind, cleared his throat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. ‘You have...’ he touched his own forehead ‘...here.’

She gave him a misty smile and a shrug of embarrassment before wiping away the dirt and returning his linen to him.

He was no less intrigued once it was gone. Perhaps it was her reaction to the injury that drew him to her. He’d been in such childhood scraps himself, but did not remember any of them as fondly as she did hers.

Of course, he’d had no brother to strike him. He did not often think of that, either. But suddenly there was a strange emptiness in him, as if he was hungry, but could not decide for what.

It was probably tea. The single slice of toast he’d had for breakfast had burned away hours ago. He needed sustenance to fill his belly and clear his mind. The sooner they left this store and returned Miss Strickland to her town house, the sooner he could remedy the hunger. He held out one hand for the heirlooms and another to help her to her feet. ‘Come. Let us pay for the return of these. Perhaps, tomorrow we can find your painting.’

* * *

They went back to the carriage and rode in silence back to Harley Street, where he handed her down to the waiting footman and carried the brown-paper bundle containing the candlesticks into the house for her.

The smugness he felt at today’s success did not do him credit. He had been confident of his ability to deliver a satisfactory solution to Leggett’s problem. But he had not expected to find a reasonable duplicate on the very first day, much less an actual item. Despite his employer’s warnings that the entire family was nothing but trouble, Hope Strickland might actually be the key to completion.

There was still the matter of her plans for the unsuspecting American. But since they had resulted from her lack of confidence that the entail could be made complete, today’s success might have loosened her grip on them.

It had been quite gratifying to see the look on her face when they had found the candlesticks. Since he had caught her practising her smiles in a mirror, he’d doubted that any of the ones she’d given him were born of sincerity. In his experience, the ruling class was good at appearing to be things they weren’t: kind, friendly and happy, for instance.

But her grin when she’d pulled the family silver out of that chest had been positively impish. The youthful mischief in her expression was a million miles away from the aloof mask she’d worn for the rest of their time together.

When she’d looked up at him, bathing him in an aura of true happiness, he’d had to remind himself that his reward for taking the job was not actually the smile of a beautiful young lady. He was doing this for money.

The proper Miss Strickland had seemed disgusted by the idea when she had talked of his fee. In her world, women might sell themselves to the highest bidder for a loveless marriage without turning a hair, but men were expected to do things for country, gallantry or sport. They never did anything as common as earning a living.

But as she’d talked of her childhood, she had forgotten what he was and looked at him as if he were an equal. Better yet, she had seen him as a man. There had been surprise on her face and perhaps a little awe in his ability to help her so easily. He had been flattered. He was smiling at her now, as he set the package on the dining-room table.

She looked up at him, as she removed her bonnet, and gave a slight toss of her head to free the last strand of her hair from the ribbon. Then, she smiled back at him with a puzzled expression that proved her earlier lapse was forgotten. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Drake. The day was more productive than I expected. But now I must go and change for dinner.’

It took a moment to recognise the reason for her statement. He meant nothing to her. In fact, she seemed a little surprised that it had been necessary to dismiss him. When servants were finished being useful, they were expected to disappear until the next time they were needed.

Instead, he had been standing there like an idiot, as if he thought they had a reason to converse socially. It was the same feeling that had come over him in the carriage and he must gain control of it immediately. He forced a polite nod in response and said, ‘Of course, Miss Strickland. If it is convenient, I will return tomorrow and we will try another shop.’

Her already relaxed expression seemed to become even more placid. She gave a contented sigh, secure in the knowledge that they understood each other. ‘That will be fine, Mr Drake. And now, if you will excuse me?’

He bowed and she turned and left him to find his own way out.

He stood for a moment, staring after her, annoyed with her and with himself. When contemplating his place in society, he was not normally given to envy or dissatisfaction. By dint of his own effort, he had gained wealth and comfort and was smart enough not to be burdened by the sort of problems that led people to hire him. He was more than happy.

But today that did not feel like enough.

‘Mr Drake.’

He jumped at the sound of his name. The girl who had spoken it was staring at him from the doorway. Leggett had said that she was but nineteen years old, yet there was something about the look in her spectacled eyes that made her seem much older. The illusion was encouraged by the rather old-fashioned way she wore her straight brown hair and the utilitarian cut of her gown.

‘Miss Charity, I presume,’ he said, bowing deeply.

She nodded. ‘We have not been introduced. But then, you had not been introduced to my sister when you barged in on her yesterday.’

Apparently, there were no secrets in the Strickland family, especially not as they related to the harassing of strangers. He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Your grandmother led me to believe I was expected.’

She gave him a dubious smile.

He held out his open hands and shrugged. ‘I gave her my card and she told me to find your sister in the hall. She assured me that Miss Strickland would know exactly what it was that needed doing. She made no offer of introduction. I assumed none was necessary.’

Miss Charity’s expression grew only slightly less doubtful. ‘If I were you, I would be very careful in following when the Dowager is the one in front. She veers wide of the truth when it suits her.’

‘Why would it suit her to...?’

‘Lie?’ The girl finished his question with the same strange, knowing smile. ‘Because in recent years, the truth has been quite unpleasant. She prefers to live in the past where things were easier.’

‘But what does any of that have to do with me?’

‘She would like my sister to be as happy as she was, in her youth. To achieve that, she must find a man for Hope.’ Charity paused for a moment. ‘Or men. I am unsure how many of the stories she tells are true, but they are always very colourful.’

‘I see.’ In truth, he did not. ‘What does that have to do with me?’

Miss Charity looked over her glasses at him. ‘You are male, are you not?’

‘Of course. But what...?’ And then, the truth came clear. ‘You cannot mean—’

‘I would not take it personally,’ Charity interrupted. ‘My sister has been uninclined to search for a husband outside of the one outlandish candidate she waits for. If Grandmother chose to throw a handsome man into her afternoon without warning, it was more of a call to awaken the senses rather than an actual attempt to mate the pair of you.’

At the clinical way she described it, he could see why Leggett had not hesitated in tripling his fee. ‘That is a comfort, I suppose.’

‘But you are not here to settle my sister’s future,’ she said, watching him more closely than he liked. ‘How goes the search for the missing entail?’

‘I do not anticipate any problems with it.’ He kept his tone polite, professional and opaque.

She gave a shake of her head. ‘The whole enterprise is unnecessary, of course.’

‘You think so?’ he said, surprised. Unlike the rest of the family, she seemed unaffected by the impending audit.

She gave a slight nod. ‘If my plan comes to fruition, we need not worry about staying in the heir’s good graces. But since you have been hired to complete the inventory to satisfy the rest of the family, feel free to grab items at random that fit the bill. What will some American know if every bell and button in the house is not just as my grandfather left it?’

‘I suggested much the same,’ he said. ‘But your sister requires greater accuracy than that.’

‘Hope appreciates order and is no good at dissembling,’ Charity replied. ‘She refuses to believe that the rest of us can get away with an adjustment of the truth because she knows she cannot.’

‘Such honesty is a thing to be prized,’ he said. ‘You make it sound like weakness of character.’

‘You do not have to live with it,’ Charity said. ‘At least, not yet.’

He stared at her, waiting for clarification, but none was offered. Perhaps she’d intended it as a joke. He had been told she was a rather odd girl.

‘And how do you get along with my sister?’ she added, which did not help his peace of mind at all.

‘She has been most helpful in establishing the provenance of the item we have found. I appreciate her assistance and anticipate no difficulties in our working together.’ He gave her what he hoped was his most distant and professional smile.

‘I see,’ she said in a way that made him want to demand an explanation of exactly what it was she saw. ‘I am sure she will say much the same of you.’

‘I am glad to know it,’ he said, feeling strangely unsettled by the compliment.

‘And is the restoration of the entail your only job for our family?’ Charity’s searching look had returned, prying at his composure as if looking for a crack.

There was no way she could have known the full scope of his mission. ‘What would make you think I was here for another reason?’

‘Because I know Mr Leggett,’ she said. ‘Before he met my sister, he was a rake who did not care at all for propriety, much less love. But now?’ She clasped her hands and gave a mocking flutter of her eyelashes. ‘He wants everyone to be as happy as he is.’

‘That is commendable of him,’ Gregory responded.

‘Forward is what I would call it,’ Charity replied. ‘He is right to think that Hope should not wait needlessly for the coming of the Earl. She will find that for herself if we leave her alone.’

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘But it would be just like a man to try subterfuge once he realises reason will not work. A distracting flirtation, for example...’

‘What the devil are you implying?’ He regretted the curse immediately, but the words had been so blunt that he’d forgotten he was talking to a young lady. ‘I was not sent here to take advantage of your sister.’

‘You are a problem solver, are you not, Mr Drake? Why would you not think of the most direct solution?’

‘Because I am a gentleman,’ he said. And because he knew from experience just what ruin such a thing might cause.

She touched a finger to her chin. ‘You claim to be a gentleman. But I can find nothing of your past, or your parentage.’

‘If it does not matter to Mr Leggett, why should it matter to you?’

‘Because he does not know this family as well as I do,’ Charity replied. ‘And because, if I am honest, he is not as intelligent as I am. If he had thought through the implications of leaving a stranger to ferry his sister-in-law around London, you’d have already had this conversation with him.’

Gregory had not got as far in life as he had without remaining calm when faced with bigoted questions from the gentry. Normally, he would have spoken of his extensive résumé and presented references from other men of stature who had been satisfied with his performance.

But today, it did not seem to be enough. Only the whole truth would do. ‘You could find nothing of my parentage because I do not know it myself. I have been told that my mother was from a good family, but died in childbirth. My father was less so. He seduced her, then abandoned her to her fate. When she died, her family was faced with the problem of an infant whose very existence was a blot on the family honour and the good name of a lost and presumably beloved daughter. They provided for my care and education anonymously, but have never shown an interest in the child I was or the man I have become.’

‘I see,’ said Miss Charity.

Her assessment annoyed him. ‘If you truly do, then you will know that your sister’s reputation is perfectly safe with me. Since I cannot prove my honour with a pedigree, I have done it with my behaviour. I have no intention of being the man my father was and leaving a lover dead or disgraced, or a son abandoned to the care of strangers and left to field such questions as the ones you are asking me.’ He stared back at her with the same unflinching intensity she had been using on him.

It did not seem to bother her in the least. At last, she sighed in what he hoped was satisfaction. ‘Very well, then. You are honourable by choice. That is probably a better reason than those who claim their good name is enough to swear on. My apologies for pressing you to reveal so much of your past. But despite what the family sometimes thinks, I do love my sisters and will not stand by and let them be hurt.’