A Kiss Away From Scandal

‘You will marry him, and he will look kindly on your beloved but eccentric, spinster sister?’ Charity patted her shoulder. ‘You are normally a very sensible girl, Hope. That is why it pains me to see you delude yourself.’

‘I just want to see you happy,’ Hope said. It was not as much a want as a responsibility. Now that Faith was gone, someone had to look out for the family and neither Charity nor Grandmama had the sense to take charge.

‘I am happy,’ Charity said softly. ‘It may surprise you to hear it, but it is true. Do not concern yourself with my future. Think of your own. I hear Grandmother has got vouchers for Almack’s. You must go and dance every dance, even without the presence of the Earl.’

‘Of course,’ Hope said, then gave her sister a pointed look. ‘And you will come with me.’

‘Perhaps,’ Charity agreed, oblivious to the order she had been given. Then she kissed Hope on the cheek and turned to go up the stairs to her room. ‘If I am not busy with something more important.’

Hope sighed. It was better than a flat refusal. Knowing Charity, by Wednesday there would be some excuse that would prevent her from coming out with them. But it did not matter. Just as her sister had suggested, Hope would go and dance until her feet ached. She would be as charming as she possibly could and see to it that every gentleman in London had met and been dazzled by Miss Strickland.

There was no point in being a wallflower. The new Earl of Comstock could have his pick of any girl in England. He would not look twice at a girl who was not courted by others.

She turned back to the mirror, and flashed a smile that would blind a duke at twenty paces. Then, the curtsy. ‘Good evening, my lord.’ This time, she dipped deeper and felt an embarrassing tremble in her front knee. She was nearly one and twenty, but hardly infirm. She could do better. She must do better.

She tried again. ‘Good evening, my lord.’

‘I should think good morning would be more appropriate. It is not yet eleven.’

She stumbled at the sound of a voice behind her and raised her eyes to see the reflection of the stranger who had entered the room as she practised.

It was he.

It had to be. Who else but the Earl of Comstock would be wandering around the house unintroduced, as if he owned it? In a sense, he did.

‘And I have no title.’

‘As of yet,’ she said. There was no longer a need to practise her smile. When she looked at him, it came naturally. Who would not be happy in the presence of such a handsome man? Though she had never been one to dote on the male form, his was perfectly proportioned, neither too tall nor too short, with slim hips and broad shoulders on which rested the head of a Roman God. His blond hair was cut à la Brutus, curling faintly at the fringe that framed a noble brow, unmarked by signs of worry. His grey eyes were intelligent, his smile sympathetic.

Praise God, she had been delivered just the man she’d prayed would come: young, handsome and, judging by the twinkle that shone in those beautiful eyes as he looked at her, single. But not for long, if she had her way.

He tilted his head. ‘You are correct. I have no title, as of yet. Nor am I likely to get one. But they are sometimes awarded to men whose service merits them and I am not yet thirty. With time and effort, anything is possible, Miss Strickland.’

She steadied herself from the shock and turned to face him with as much grace as possible, struggling to maintain the expression she’d been practising in the mirror. ‘Then you are not my cousin from America?’

‘The future Earl of Comstock?’ His smile softened. ‘Unfortunately, no.’ He bowed from the waist. ‘Gregory Drake, at your service, Miss Strickland. I was told you’d be expecting me.’

She could feel her smile faltering and struggled against the impolite response, who?

More importantly, how? She glanced to the front door which had not opened to admit anyone, much less this interloper. Then, she made an effort to compose herself. ‘I fear you were incorrectly informed. I was not told there would be a guest this morning. You have caught me unprepared.’

He followed her eyes, read the meaning and gave a deferential dip of his head. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Strickland. I was retained by your brother-in-law to help with certain difficulties your family is experiencing. Since the matter is one that requires discretion, I entered through the rear to avoid calling attention.’

‘The tradesman’s entrance.’ Of course he had. If Mr Leggett had hired him, why should he not begin there?

He nodded, solemnly.

A torrent of unladylike words filled her mind about trumped-up nobodies with delusions of a grand future who had the gall to tease her with them. And worse yet, who had the nerve to look like the answer to a maiden’s prayers. He had no right to be so handsome, yet so inappropriate.

Then, the rant changed to encompass her sister’s husband, who had hired this...this...person. She ended with a scold for Grandmama, who probably knew the whole story and had neglected to tell her any of it, just as she had with the difficulties surrounding an audit. The Dowager probably thought it amusing to throw the two of them together so Hope might make a fool of herself.

When she was sure that her actual words would leave her mouth with a minimum of bile, she said, ‘So Mr Leggett has sent you to save us from ourselves.’

Her control was not perfect. She still sounded ungrateful, but she had a right to be angry. She had been behaving like an idiot when he’d entered. It likely confirmed what he already thought of the family: that they were a houseful of silly women, incapable of caring for themselves.

Of course, that was what she often thought, when faced with the latest exploit of her sister or her grandmother. She did not deny that they had problems, but how could a stranger possibly understand them the way she did?

She forced another smile. It was not the warm one she was saving for the Earl. The one she gave to Mr Drake was sufficient for solicitors and shopkeepers. ‘How much has Mr Leggett told you about our difficulty?’

‘Everything, I suspect. You seek the return of certain items before an impending inventory.’ If he thought her rude, he did not show it. His manner reflected hers. He was professionally pleasant, but revealed no trace of his true thoughts or feelings.

So, he suspected he knew everything. That proved how little he actually knew. Even Mr Leggett did not know the worst of it for Hope had not wished to ruin Faith’s honeymoon with what she had recently discovered. But Mr Drake should at least understand that none of it was Hope’s fault. To prove her lack of culpability, she said aloud the words that had been echoing in her mind since she had learned the extent of their troubles. ‘Grandmama should not have sold things that did not belong to her. Nor should she have kept our financial difficulties a secret for so long.’

He offered another sympathetic nod. ‘But what could you have done, had you known?’

Very little. Faith had been the one in charge of the family budget and her decisions had seemed sensible enough. Economies had been taken in diet and dress. Rooms had been shut and staff had been released. How much less would they have had without Grandmama’s judicious thefts refilling the accounts?

The fact that there had been no other solution did not make her feel any better, now that reckoning had arrived. ‘The past does not matter. It is the future that I am worried about. There will be a scandal, if the truth comes out.’

‘I am here to see that it never does,’ he said. ‘I have helped more than a few families with similar problems. Taking desperate measures when there is a shortage of funds is not at all unusual.’

‘I assume Mr Leggett means to buy back the lost items?’ It was a generous plan from a man who had no idea the depth of the problem.

‘He said you had a list.’

‘After a fashion,’ she said, giving nothing away. By the look on Mr Drake’s face, he expected her to turn over the details of her family’s darkest secrets without as much as a by your leave. She had no reason to trust this stranger who appeared out of nowhere with far too much information and no introduction, verbal or written. For all she knew, he was an agent of the new Earl and they were already discovered.

He gave another encouraging smile. ‘If you share it with me, then I will go about my business and leave you to yours. The matter will be settled without another thought from you.’

She could not help a derisive snort. It would serve him right if she told him the truth and then sent him on his way with no other help. ‘Very well, then.’ She turned from him and walked down the hall to the morning room. He could follow or not. It did not really matter.

She heard the measured steps of his boots follow down the corridor and into the room. When she withdrew the crumpled paper from the little writing desk in the corner, she turned to find him still a respectful few steps behind her. She handed him the list. ‘There you go. Settle our troubles, if you still think you can.’

She watched his handsome brow furrow as he read down the column. ‘Blue painting. Candlesticks. Third Earl’s inkwell.’ He glanced up at her, clearly surprised. ‘That is all the detail you have? Nothing to tell me if the candlesticks were gold or silver?’ The furrows grew even deeper. ‘And I cannot make out this line at all.’

‘Neither can I,’ she said, trying to contain the malicious glee as he was brought into her suffering. ‘My grandmother is a woman of many words, but we can seldom get the ones we need out of her. It took some effort to get this much detail, for she kept no records of the things she sold and the places she took them. And I am quite certain there are items missing from this account.’ Only one of them had any significance. But it was not a story she wished to tell, just yet. ‘I will question her further, but I do not know how much more she will admit.’

‘It is fortunate that dealers keep better records than their clients,’ he said. ‘It might take some persuading for them to give the information up. There are laws against dealing in entailed merchandise.’

‘I am well aware of the fact.’ Her grandmother was as guilty or more so than the people she’d bartered with. They might be receivers of stolen goods, but she was the actual thief.

‘But if they do not remember her?’ The look on his face changed to resignation. ‘Would you recognise these items, if you saw them again?’

‘Most of them, I think,’ she said. ‘I have lived in the house since I was ten. They should at least be familiar, should I find them in a shop window.’

He sighed. ‘Then it would be best if you come with me, to retrieve them.’

‘You are suggesting that I accompany a strange man to unseemly parts of London to retrieve stolen goods.’

‘I am not a stranger, as such,’ he reminded her. His smile returned, though it was somewhat the worse for wear. ‘I was sent by your brother-in-law to help you.’

‘I have only your word for that,’ she replied.

‘How else would I know of your problems, if not for him?’

‘You might have guessed them.’ More likely, it was just as he said. He had been sent to help. But for some reason, his good looks and perfect manners annoyed her. It gave her a dark and unladylike pleasure to see him struggle.

His composure slipped for only a moment. Then he dug a hand into his coat pocket and came out with a paper. He held it out to her. ‘If it is not as I say, how do you suppose I came by this?’

It was a letter of credit, signed by Mr Leggett, promising to honour any and all bills without question. The sight of it left her light-headed. He could not know what he was promising. Since Faith and her husband had already left for their honeymoon, it was too late to tell him.

He mistook the reason for her silence and said, ‘If it helps, think of me as a servant who will be accompanying you as you set matters right. I will be there to assure your safety, handle the transactions and carry the packages.’

It did not help at all. The idea of him walking a pace behind her like some liveried footman was an abomination. He was too well spoken for a servant and not stern enough for a schoolmaster. If she stretched her imagination to the breaking point, she could see him as a solicitor, but there was a sparkle in his eye better suited to a criminal than a man of law. And no vicar would have that knowing smile.

He was simply too handsome to be going about town with. Should she be seen with him there would be gossip that had nothing to do with the Stricklands’ financial troubles. And while it was quite all right for the new Earl to see her as sought after, she could not have him thinking that she was being actively courted by Gregory Drake.

‘If you fear for your reputation, remember that it will be equally damaged if news of the missing items becomes public.’

‘Unless the new Earl can be persuaded to compassionate silence,’ she said, wishing she could go back to her practising and pretend this meeting had never occurred.

Mr Drake tucked his letter back into his coat, along with her incomplete list. ‘What do you know of your grandfather’s heir, thus far?’

It was an annoying question, since the answer was obvious. They’d had no contact with the man, other than the request for an audit of the entail to be completed before his arrival, and that had come through a solicitor. It did not bode well. But she put on a false smile to appease her interrogator. ‘I know that he is family and familial bonds are strong. I am sure Mr Strickland will understand the difficulties faced by women who are forced to fend for themselves.’

‘We must hope so, for I doubt he has any special affection for this country,’ Mr Drake said, pulling another piece of paper from his opposite pocket. ‘Mr Leggett has also hired me to find what I could about the gentleman you are expecting.’ He scanned his notes. ‘It appears that his grandfather fought bravely in their revolution against this country. More recently, Mr Strickland’s elder brother, Edward, was impressed into the British Navy. Miles Strickland became heir upon Edward’s untimely death in battle.’

This was what came of optimism. Hope had allowed herself to believe, just once, that with a little effort on her part, things might turn out for the best. And this was how the Lord rewarded her. She swallowed her nerves. ‘If our country has treated him so unfairly, perhaps he will refuse the title and remain in America.’

‘It is too late to hope for that, I think,’ Mr Drake announced. ‘Even now, the schooner Mary Beth is on its way from Philadelphia to Bristol. If he booked passage on it, as he planned, he may arrive at any time.’

‘We are not at fault for a war on the other side of the world, or the doings of the Royal Navy,’ Hope said, feeling her vision of the future crumbling like a sandcastle at high tide.

‘But there is still the matter of the missing entail,’ Mr Drake replied, speaking slowly, as if to a child. ‘It is best that we make sure he has no other reasons to be unhappy with you. Give me a day to examine your list in detail. If it is convenient, I will call for you tomorrow at ten and we will begin the process of making things right.’

She wanted to argue that it was not convenient at all. He could take the list and go to perdition for all she cared. They were doomed. All doomed. What good would it do her to start a search that she was sure they could never finish?

But Mr Leggett must have chosen this fellow for his skills in retrieval. Perhaps he could find a way to make things marginally better. If he needed her help, then surely her help was required. The sooner it was begun, the sooner it would be over. And she could not depend on rough winter crossings to delay the Earl indefinitely. The house needed to be in something approaching order when he arrived at it. She forced another smile for Mr Drake. ‘If this is to be settled, I do not see that I have any choice in the matter. I will accompany you as long as certain conditions are met.’

‘And they are?’ he said, with an expectant tip of his head.

‘For the sake of modesty, I will remain veiled in your presence. We will speak no more than is necessary and under no circumstances will you call me by name while in the presence of others.’

If he was insulted there was no sign of it. His smile was as distant and unwavering as ever. ‘Of course, Miss Strickland.’

‘Then I will expect you at ten o’clock tomorrow.’

‘Until then.’ He offered a bow worthy of a true gentleman, then spoiled it by turning towards the back of the house.

She sighed. ‘You are standing next to a door, Mr Drake. Please, use it.’

‘As you wish, Miss Strickland. He turned and let himself out of the front door and into the street.

Hope moved to the window and watched him walk down Harley Street, sure she could not truly breathe until he was out of sight. Mr Leggett meant well, as did Mr Drake. Even if it did not make things better, their interference could not possibly make things worse. But had it been necessary to tell her about the Earl of Comstock’s antipathy for England? It was almost as if Mr Drake took as much pleasure in seeing her disappointment as she had in his.

‘My, what a charming fellow.’ Grandmother stood behind her, looking out the window at their departing visitor.

‘He was not charming,’ Hope said, wondering if her grandmother had formed her opinion based on the way the man’s coat hugged his shoulders as he walked. ‘And how would you know, either way? You did not speak to him, did you?’

Grandmother peered past her at the retreating figure. ‘Only briefly, when he arrived. He is the fellow James hired to help us with the entail.’

‘You knew.’ Hope could not help her shrill tone at the discovery that, once again, she had been denied important information and left in an awkward situation to fend for herself.

‘Did I forget to mention it?’ She looked at Hope with the widened eyes of one who thought that age and good intentions made up for outright lies. ‘I did not want to trouble you. But when he arrived looking so young and handsome, I assumed the two of you would not want an old chaperon spoiling a perfectly lovely chat.’

Just as she had suspected. ‘You sent a strange man to speak to me without as much as a footman to explain.’ She probably assumed that if she threw the two of them together they would stick like lodestones, just as Faith and James had. ‘I cannot solve our problems by marrying the first person who walks through the door, you know.’

Her normally cheerful grandmother arched a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You are a fine one to say such a thing. That is your plan, is it not? To marry the new Earl?’

‘That is entirely different,’ Hope replied. At least she knew the Earl’s family. Lord only knew what sort of dubious pedigree Mr Drake might have.

‘It is not the worst idea,’ the Dowager admitted. ‘But as I tried to explain to your sister Faith, choosing a husband for financial expediency is never as satisfying as a union based on mutual affection.’ She stared down the street in the direction Mr Drake had disappeared. ‘Or, at least, temporary passion. That fellow was quite handsome, I thought.’

It was annoyingly true. His hair was the colour of winter wheat and, though she’d often thought grey eyes seemed cold, his were warm and inquisitive, especially when paired with that slightly sardonic smile. ‘I did not notice his looks,’ she lied.

‘Are you ill?’ Her grandmother reached out to touch her forehead.

Hope shook off the hand. ‘Merely circumspect. My parents would have thought it most unchristian of me to evaluate a man on appearance alone.’

The older woman gave a disapproving tut. ‘When we encouraged your father to read for the church, we had no idea he would take the whole thing so seriously.’

Both her parents had been more than serious on the subject of morality. They’d been paragons of it, and died together, nursing their village through an epidemic. Then, Hope and her sisters had come to live with their grandparents and a whole new and comparatively decadent world had been opened to them. ‘They would have wanted me to marry sensibly,’ Hope replied. ‘There is nothing sensible about Mr Drake.’

‘A flirtation, then,’ her grandmother suggested, with no thought at all to Hope’s reputation. But then, as she frequently reminded them all, things had been different when she was a girl.

‘Young ladies do not engage in flirtations,’ Hope reminded her. They especially did not do it with employees of their families and she did not think Mr Drake was helping them out of the goodness of his heart.

‘I am not suggesting that you dishonour yourself,’ the Dowager added with a flutter of her lashes. ‘But it would not hurt you to smile when you see a handsome man. It would not ruin you to laugh with him. The world will not end if you let him steal a kiss.’

‘Actually, it might,’ Hope said. ‘Suppose someone learned of it? I would be shunned from polite society and Mr Drake would not be welcome in the homes of the men who employ him.’

The Dowager sighed. ‘Young people nowadays have no spirit at all.’

‘Gentlemen do not marry girls who have too much spirit,’ Hope replied.

‘All the more reason not to marry a gentleman,’ she supplied. ‘Of course, it is possible that the new Earl will not be one. He is American, after all. Lord knows what barbaric habits he has developed.’

‘He is probably married,’ Hope said, glumly. It would be just her luck if he turned out to be a married man who hated the English.

‘Then, perhaps you should look elsewhere. As I reminded you before, Mr Drake is a very handsome man.’

Hope offered a weak smile in response. At times like this, she was never sure if her grandmother was joking, addled by age or simply lost to all propriety. But she had lived with the Dowager far too long to be surprised.

‘Mr Drake has no interest in me, beyond the task set for him by Mr Leggett. There will be no lingering glances, no stolen kisses and definitely no marriage. We will find what missing items we can, he will collect his payment and that will be the end of it.’

‘If you say so, my dear.’ The Dowager shook her head in disappointment. ‘But in my opinion, you are wasting an opportunity.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Hope replied with an adamant nod of her head.

Chapter Three

So far, the Strickland family was everything Leggett had promised they would be: intelligent, maddening and beautiful. Though of those attributes, the best the Dowager Countess could seem to manage was two out of three.

Judging by her granddaughter, she had been stunning thirty-odd years ago, and was still a handsome woman. But from the dearth of information she’d provided about the problems she’d caused, it was clear the Earl had not married her for her mind. When Gregory had tried to question her upon arriving at the town house, she had deliberately changed the subject, wanting to know more about him than he had cared to share while revealing nothing at all about the shops she had frequented or the things she’d sold to them.

Then, there was Miss Hope Strickland, who was currently sitting beside him in a rented carriage on their way to a pawnshop. She was simmering like a soup kettle with the desire to finish her part in the search as quickly as possible so she might never lay eyes on him again.

And a very pretty kettle of soup she was. Chestnut hair, large brown eyes and a pert nose accented the sort of soft, curvy body a man longed to hold. But the set of her beautiful shoulders and the straight line of her eminently kissable lips had assured him of the unlikelihood that anything would happen between them. She was the granddaughter of an earl and had heard the common ‘Mister’ before his name and dismissed him out of hand.

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.