Calamity Claresta

by

Irene Estep

© copyright September 2000, Irene Estep
Cover art by Eliza Black
New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com
ISBN 1-58608-155-1
Rocket ISBN 1-58608-287-6

CHAPTER ONE

No stranger to adversity and scandal, Miss Claresta Huntington knew a marriage of convenience--the sort she’d decided to pursue--would involve both. But with only two months to fulfill her obligations, what choice did she have?

"I must find a husband, Nan."

The robust housekeeper snorted, as was her penchant to do more often than not when expressing disapproval. She pounded life back into the feather pillow Claresta had slept on and said, "'Tis a pity you can't see fit to go about acquiring one in the traditional fashion."

"Yes, it is a pity," Claresta mumbled. Sometimes her housekeeper’s honesty took on the form of impertinence.

While her dresser, Lizette, twisted her strawberry blonde hair into a coronet about her head, Claresta contemplated how to go about her mission. For certain she could not go into the dockside taverns alone. She would need Nan to accompany her to find a ne’er-do-well suitable for her purposes. But to get the woman to go along with the plan, Claresta first had to convince her of the necessity to take such a drastic measure. Over the years, she had come to rely on Nan for advice. She was more than a servant. She was family--a distant country cousin on her mother’s side, but still family. Nan wasn’t required to perform the duties of housekeeper, but she insisted she must earn her keep. Since the age of seven, Claresta had had no other mother figure to turn to.

"I have to do what is necessary to keep my inheritance. And, even you must admit that marrying up to salvage my tarnished reputation is no longer a possibility."

"What of your cousin, Lord Westhaven?" Nan asked as she smoothed down the linen pillowcase.

"That toad-eating imbecile! At Vauxhall the other evening, he called me a sorceress."

To the first Nan could find no argument, to the latter she said, "Uh-huh."

"I tell you, he fell into that fountain on his own. I never laid a finger on him."

Nan lifted her nose as if to emit another disapproving sound. Instead, she said, "Well, you are not to be faulted for having clumsy suitors. Young bucks these days fall into fountains, stumble down stairs, and overturn carriages all the time." Nan tsked. "And, who could have known Lady Chelsworth’s brother had a bad heart?"

"Enough, Nan." Claresta didn't like to remember the elderly gentleman's head plopping like a stone into his bowl of soup at Garraway's. She had been able to overlook the unlucky events that had squelched her other marriageable prospects, but none had ended with such finality as that of Sir Pedigrew.

"Well, 'tis none of it your fault," Nan insisted. "If not for the Morning Post quoting Sir Pedigrew's sister when she called you Calamity Claresta--"

"I said enough, Nan. Now, are you going to help me carry out my scheme to find a husband or not? Edwin said if I caught the lot before they became too deep in their cups, I may find one man in a dozen worth a farthing."

"I cannot believe your cousin would encourage one of your antics," Nan mumbled. "He always seemed so much more dependable and levelheaded than his brother."

Edwin had given her information on the best time of the day to catch a quarry only after she had made it clear she was determined go through with her scheme, with or without anyone’s help. To point out her younger cousin’s better qualities in comparison to that of Lord Westhaven’s would be easy as comparing daylight to dark.

However, if she went off on a tangent of defending Edwin they could be here all day. She signaled the maid to quit fussing over the few strands of her hair that defied confinement and said, "Lay out the yellow gown, Lizette, and then you may go for now."

After Lizette closed the door behind her, Nan picked up the yellow frock and exchanged it for a gray crepe from the wardrobe. Then, no doubt, she hoped a guilty conscience would work where disapproval had not. "Mr. Huntington, god rest his weary soul, would not have been pleased by what you’re thinking to do."

Claresta lifted herself from the dresser chair in a towering passion. "If not for my dear papa's final decree, I should not be in need of a husband to begin with!"

* * *

Drake Lockwood walked unsteadily down the gangplank. As he stepped onto the London wharf, he was fairly tempted to drop on his shaking knees and kiss the firm, unmoving structure. He was thankful the crisp morning air kept the combined odors of spices and gutted fish to a bare minimum.

The red-bearded captain of the Black Eagle, walking beside him, chuckled. "Aye, that greenish tint ye've been sporting since we left America is beginning to wan a mite."

Drake grunted. Just because he was major stockholder in a shipping company didn't mean he liked sailing. He was a land lover at heart in more ways than one. This would be the first time since his father passed away ten years ago that he wouldn't be around to oversee spring planting at Oakcrest.

"Are you sure you want to be settling on English soil permanently, your lordship?"

Drake gave the barrel-chested captain a scathing look. "I've asked you at least a dozen times, Captain Mercer, not to call me that."

"Aye, but as the new Earl of Norwood, it’s a title you best get used to, my lord." Mercer emphasized the title and smiled broadly. "You’ll like as not be addressed as Lord Norwood by these English noddies."

Drake made no comment to this. ?gard for his title had already been made evident to him from his own family. Ever since Druscilla learned of his entitlement, she'd had her heart set on snaring a member of the peerage for her only daughter. Not that he minded much. It was time he repaid his stepmother for her many kindness’ to him over the years. He doubted it would take much more than a season to marry Franny off, anyway. His half-sister was almost as pretty as her mother.

"I'll look over the Norwood holdings and see what is what before deciding whether to stay on here for good. In any event, by the time the Season ends, Mitch will have reached his majority. I'll need to return to Oakcrest then and tidy up the accounts with him."

Already he missed the clean scent of freshly plowed ground. It was hard to remember sometimes that Oakcrest belonged to his younger bother. Drake had no little resentment toward his dead father because of it, either.

Lord Norwood. He tumbled the title around in his mind. Mercer was right; he'd have to become accustomed to being addressed in such a manner. As for respect, he'd worked long and hard for that back home. Being a member of the peerage should make things easier here. When his father was alive, he’d made sure nothing came easy to his eldest son.

Drake shook the sudden reminder of his father's hatred from his mind. He thought instead of the vast lands of his own he would soon possess. As he understood it there were over ten thousand acres at Norwood Manor. That was three times the size of Oakcrest. If a thing were possible, Quentin Lockwood would suffer apoplexy from his grave if he knew all Drake had inherited as his descendent.

"Let's hope it is a long Season, yer lordship." Mercer's eyes twinkled with mischief. "I don't expect your constitution will take another voyage too soon."

Inclined to agree, but reluctant to admit his weakness, Drake kept his counsel. He still felt a bit feeble from his continual bout of mal de mer while on the high seas. Making the return trip wasn't something he wanted to dwell on at the moment.

"Well, go on with you now," Captain Mercer said. "I'll see your trunks get delivered to the Clarendon. I'll be shoving off to Oporto within the hour to pick up them casks of wine you ordered. Should be back here in about a week for that batch of chamomile you insisted I haggle from that green-eared agent this morn'."

Mercer shook his head. "Can't see as why you'd want to invest in such a missish drink myself. Course, that sample you was carrying around did seem to work wonders on your stomach, didn't it now?"

Drake remained silent, not willing to be baited by the captain's teasing. Instead, he directed his attention toward a street urchin who looked to be no older than six or seven running toward them. Drake withdrew a coin from his waistcoat.

Mercer followed his line of vision and cautioned, "Remember what I told you. London's full of beggars and misfits. You cannot be a bleeding heart for every single one of 'em."

"Don't worry, Captain. Druscilla made out a whole list of do's and don'ts and I'm sure that charity is listed on the don't side." Not that he intended to follow every one of his stepmother's suggestions.

Drake was well known back home for being soft for a sad tale. Ignoring the poor had been the only form of social propriety he'd never understood, or adhered to. And rarely had he regretted helping those in unfortunate circumstance through no fault of their own, especially children.

His stepmother’s list crinkled when Drake patted his right pocket. He also checked his other pocket to assure himself he'd not left the packet of important paperwork behind. He'd need the money draft from his American bank and the introduction to the London solicitor handling the transfer of the Norwood titles and estates inherited from a great-uncle. He’d never known of the late Earl of Norwood since his father had never spoken of his English relatives.

The urchin approached with his hand extended. He wore a threadbare frieze coat, knee breeches, and hole-riddled stockings that left most of his legs exposed to the elements. "Spare a sixpence for a loaf o' bread, gov'ner?"

Drake's stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't kept down a solid meal in several days. He held a coin just out of the boy's eager reach. "How would you like the chance to earn this, young fellow?"

"Earn?" The ragamuffin glanced at the coin, and his brows beetled into a dubious expression.

Drake thought the poor lad must never have been given the opportunity to work for his keep. "Nothing too strenuous, mind you. Just direct me to a nearby inn. If the place is clean and serves decent fare, there could be another shilling in it for you."

The captain cleared his throat. "Lord Norwood, I think you’ll find the food at the Clarendon much more to your liking."

"Nonsense, Captain. Surely a local would know the best place to breakfast." Drake looked around at the fog that, in spite of dawn being more than an hour past, still hung low over the dock area. He didn’t know how far it was to the hotel. And traveling in this thick stew would be slow going at best. "Besides, I need nourishment now."

A crooked smile split the boy's dirty face. He cast a smug look toward the captain, then boasted loudly, "The Boar Bristle’s the best feed around, yer lordship. I'll take ye there meself."

"What's your name, lad?" Drake asked.

"Charlie--er, Charles Farrell, m'lord."

Drake handed over the coin, and the boy bit on it to make sure it was genuine. Then his eyes followed Drake’s hands as he carefully replaced his money pouch inside his left coat pocket.

"You said you would see to my bags, Captain?" Drake asked.

"Aye." Mercer gave the dock-waif a sidelong glance and endeavored to warn Lord Norwood again. "But do be careful, sir."

"I'm sure I'm in good hands, Captain Mercer." Drake winked at the boy. "Very well, Charles Farrell. Lead on."

When they arrived at the Boar Bristle Inn, Drake flipped the other coin to the boy. Charlie grabbed it deftly out of mid-air and tested its authenticity as he had the first coin. After shoving the money into his pocket, the boy sniffed the air filled with the scent of fresh baked bread and rubbed his stomach. The child looked more emaciated than Drake did now in his loose fitting cloths. He had lost several pounds during the lengthy sea voyage. "I never did care for dining alone, Charles. I wonder if you'd like to join me?"

"Blimey, if I wouldna, gov'ner, er, ye lordship." The boy's eyes sparkled, and then he looked downcast and struck his foot against the cobblestones. "But don't rightly see as how I can accept yer kind offer. Not wid me own dear sister going nigh on two days wid nary a bite."

Drake chuckled. The little urchin was a veritable flimflammer. It reminded him of the days before Druscilla married his father and took him in hand. Feeding two scrawny children would be no strain on his purse. "Fetch her along then and be quick about it."

While Drake waited, he contemplated the choices the buxom barmaid rattled off to him in a singsong voice. He ordered a tankard of ale and said he'd wait until his friends joined him.

As the barmaid placed the tankard in front of him, the door to the inn swung open. The malnourished little girl he'd expected turned out to be a dark headed young miss nearer his sister's age. She stepped cautiously into the room behind Charlie and searched every corner of the room until her eyes landed on Drake, and then she lowered her lashes.

He’d seen courtesans use more subtlety. As the girl moved saucily toward him, he barely held back a chuckle. The child looked more entertaining than provocative.

He stood and waited for the pair to join him. As the young woman came closer, he noticed--with the exception of a few red blotches here and there--her skin held a jaundiced pallor. Obviously, she was recovering from some sort of illness, and he feared his generosity might prove to be as foolhardy as Mercer had hinted.

"This is me sister, Juny," Charlie said.

"Juny, I’m pleased you could join us." Drake bowed politely, and the girl’s eyes widened in surprise. He couldn’t help but note the frailty of her body beneath the worn blue dress and knew he did not have the heart to turn them away.

"Pleased to make your acquaintanceship, m’lord." No gentleman ever did the pretty for Juny. She curtsied in return and attempted another seductive smile as she slid onto the bench beside her brother.

The barmaid backed up a step or two as if she feared whatever ailed the girl might be catching. Drake overcame a similar inclination and took his seat on the opposite side of the table.

"We'll start with a bowl of porridge and some of that delicious smelling bread," Drake told the barmaid, sensing the pale thing across from him couldn't handle anything heavier at first.

"Porridge?" Charlie sniffed.

Drake chuckled. He’d forgotten the amount of vittles a boy of Charlie’s age could manage. "Perhaps a rasher of ham and some eggs, also, for my young friend here."

Charlie beamed with approval. Juny placed her hand suggestively over his lordship’s, then imitated the speech of the fine ladies she'd seen coming from the opera houses late at night. "Thank you, yore lordship."

Drake smiled ruefully and slid his hand from beneath the girl’s. He gave her a fatherly pat. At first, she looked aghast, then her eyes narrowed. "What will you be wanting in return for this fine breakfast, sir?"

Just then, the barmaid came back with their meal. She sat the girl's bowl down next to Drake's, leaving it to him to slide the steaming concoction in front of Juny. It saddened him to see so much suspicion reflected in her young eyes over such a small kindness. "You can repay me by not letting your food go to waste, young lady. Now eat up and don't fritter away your time asking silly questions."

At that, a wide sparkling smile more befitting her age lit up Juny's face. Once again Drake was reminded of his little sister. Except on the few occasions when Franny was in a sulk for not getting her way, she bubbled with happiness. Thankfully, his little sister had never had to go without food or anything else her heart desired.

"You really are a bloomin' gentleman, ain't you?" the girl said, dropping her restrained dialect.

"Did I not tell ye it was so?" Charlie piped around a mouthful of eggs.

After that the two sprites dug into their food with gusto. Apparently the girl's constitution wasn't as delicate as Drake thought. The porridge had quite satisfied his appetite for the moment, but after the girl downed hers, she ate half the rasher of ham, over Charlie's virulent objections.

Drake felt another tug of homesickness as he remembered his own siblings’ frequent quarreling. He settled the argument by ordering another helping, plus more eggs, bread and two tankards of ale to wash it down. All of this the brother and sister gulped as if they'd never had food before.

He was pleased to note the girl's coloring had taken on a much healthier glow by the time she wiped her plate with the last crumb of bread. Then Juny sat staring moon-eyed at Lord Norwood until Charlie kicked her shin beneath the table.

"Ouch!"

"Well, 'tis best we be on our way, right, Juny?"

Drake puzzled over the beseeching look she gave her brother, but anxious to be about his own business, he pushed back his bench and stood. Bowing graciously, he said, "It was an honor dining in such pleasant company."

Unexpectedly, Juny threw her arms around Lord Norwood and gave him a fierce hug. He felt uncomfortable by the display of appreciation but could do little but bear it. With a feeble grunt, he acknowledged her "thank you" and patted the girl on the back until she decided to let go.

"I swear I'll pay you back someday, your lordship," Juny said, and thumped his chest with more fervor than Drake felt his kindness afforded. Then she and Charlie sailed past two well-dressed ladies and a stoical gent who'd just entered the inn. When the boy stopped to gawk at the younger woman dressed in gray, Juny gave him a shove out the front door.

Only after Drake sat back down and prepared to pay the barmaid for their meal, did he realize his pockets had been picked clean.

* * *

"Disgraceful," Nan snorted.

"It looked like an innocent gesture to me, wouldn't you say so, Shipley?" Claresta asked, bending her neck to look up at the tall, slender butler.

Shipley, a protective and devoted servant, formerly valet to Claresta's grandfather and then her father, last year accepted the position of butler rather than being pensioned off. Even at his age, he was a gallant fellow; tall erect posture, thick gray hair, and similarly colored eyes that were always drawn into a narrow, discerning squint.

Maintaining his usual reserve, he barely nodded, making no comment one way or the other to Claresta’s question. Once he'd learned her destination, she could not get out of the house without him. Of course, if Nan hadn't been denouncing her mission so vehemently as they came below stairs, Shipley might never have known where they were going. As it was, the whole household seemed to have been aware of what Claresta had in mind to do. The small staff even followed them out onto the stoop, with varying degrees of anxiety marring their faces, until she assured them all would be well.

"Innocent, my eye," Nan huffed. "No gentleman entertains a pretty young'un in a tavern without ulterior motives."

Claresta looked around the room. She hadn't considered how few patrons would be about this early in the morning. The only marital candidate to be seen was the one trying to explain to the proprietor why he couldn't pay his tab. It was the same man who'd been entertaining the 'pretty young'un', as Nan had put it. "I came looking for a husband, Nan, not a gentleman," Claresta said.

When the dark-haired man offered to flip for the meal with the proprietor's own coin, she thought the innkeeper would have apoplexy, his face grew so red.

A gambler. Who else would be willing to take a chance on Calamity Claresta? She smiled hopefully and started forward.

"Claresta Huntington, you stop right there!" Nan grabbed her arm. Her companion could be quite forceful when she set her mind to it. "I don't like the looks of that one, I tell you. The way he's carrying on, he's bound to be nothing but a rapscallion. From the looks of things, he is a freeloader to boot. And look at those clothes he's wearing. They don’t appear to have been tailored for his frame. Stolen right off some unsuspecting gentleman's back, most likely."

Claresta bit her lower lip and tried to view the man in the same light as Nan did. He stood at least a head taller than the innkeeper. An intriguing strand of dark hair popped back over his forehead regardless of the numerous swipes he made at it with his wide palm. Dark circles etched half-moons beneath his eyes but hardly detracted from the rest of his handsome features. A hawk-like nose, high cheekbones and square jaw adorned his face with such masculine ease Claresta’s breath caught at the sight of the full view when his head swiveled in her direction.

It was the barmaid he was looking at though. When the woman took his part, a rakish, lopsided grin lifted the corners of his firm lips. A ripple of butterflies danced inside Claresta's stomach--the result of skipping breakfast, she decided.

The barmaid's entreaty made little impact on the innkeeper. He accused the gel of being loose in the haft, then he turned on the "scaff and raff" and told him he’d best come up with payment for his fare or the magistrate would be sent for straightway.

Although the man's clothes did hang rather loosely, he still had a rather regal look about him, and his shoulders lifted in a commanding way as he argued his trustworthiness. His skin, though a bit drawn, looked well bronzed as though he'd spent a lot of time outdoors.

A soldier or sailor perhaps. Neither of which would have much interest in the business world, Claresta deduced. Mayhap he was not so inarticulate as expected from one of the lower orders, for he presented a persuasive story about a pair of urchins picking his pockets. Although, the tavern owner still seemed unimpressed with the man's drawling speech.

Claresta would hold her own judgment until she spoke to the man. She didn't care about looks, even if she did find him very pleasant to gaze upon. If clothes were what made a man, she could deck him out in the finest money could buy. Right now, he was in trouble, obviously without funds, and that could work well to her advantage.

No matter Nan's objections, Claresta was determined to get her situation settled before the noon hour. She still had columns of figures to tally, merchandise to inventory, and a meeting with a buyer to attend.

"He's perfect," she declared and marched across the room.

Nan lifted her eyes toward heaven and gave a silent prayer, then followed helplessly. The only way she could restrain Claresta now would be to tie her down with a rope. Oh, but had she only thought to snatch the tassels off the bed hangings before leaving Gilbert House.

Shipley trailed sedately after them.

As Claresta approached the arguing pair she pulled her change purse from her reticule. "My dear, how fortunate I caught up with you so soon."

The proprietor and Drake turned abruptly toward the feminine intrusion.

"Here," the pretty woman said and pushed a small pouch at Drake. The article may conceivably have been taken as a masculine article had it not been made of pink silk and lace. He cast a quizzing glance from the purse to the lady. She, however, offered no explanation but bespoke a close acquaintanceship by saying sweetly, "Really, dear, you're not usually so careless. You went off this morning without your pocket change."

Drake couldn't help starring at the female who clearly needed spectacles. But he duly noted the innkeeper suddenly changed from a screaming banshee to a grinning possum. Drake wasn't certain whether the man's brightened expression was achieved by the prospect of being paid, or from seeing a grown man who dared carry his money about in such a frilly geegaw.

Drake knew his mouth was still hanging at half-mast, but he couldn't seem to come up with anything to counter the lady's claim without placing them both in a worse predicament than he already found himself. He had no choice but to go along with her ridiculous claim and accept the purse.

As he did so, the older woman standing beside her snorted, and an imperceptible gleam flashed from the narrowed eyes of the tall, white-haired gentleman flanking her other side.

"Pay the man, dear," the pretty urged. "We'll be late for our appointment if we don't hurry."

Drake yanked open the purse and paid the man.

CHAPTER TWO

What sort of God-forsaken country had he stepped into? Drake wondered. Only here for two hours and already he'd been fleeced by children and rescued by a damsel who had cobwebs on the brain.

He'd been left no choice but to step into the enclosed carriage with the two women, for the proprietor had followed and stood in front of the inn with his eyes trained on them until they drove away. Perhaps the befuddled man couldn't believe what had just happened any more than Drake could.

The stoical old gent who accompanied the women had climbed atop the coach with the driver, leaving Drake feeling like a freak at a Raree Show under the steady stare of the pair of women seated across from him. The older one obviously had some sort of malady with her nose. She kept lifting it obtrusively and emitting a less than subtle sound.

The young lady, although a trifle odd, seemed the essence of prim. Only a few wayward strands of hair the color of fading firelight were visible. The rest were tucked beneath her gray bonnet trimmed in ruching the palest of pink--possibly lavender, he realized upon closer examination--the same shade as that of the change purse and that which beribboned her reticule. Her dress of a somber gray hue held no adornment, except the black Norwich shawl that lay loosely across her shoulders.

It was the amber eyes that radiated more warmth, more friendliness and maybe even a mite more spark than he would ever have expected from a lady of proper English upbringing. She hadn't stopped smiling at him since he first laid eyes on her. Which only proved his original theory that the lady was a trifle odd.

However, he knew he ought to show his gratitude for her timely intervention. The tavern owner had been about to send for the magistrate when she stepped forward and gave him the purse to pay his tab. But thank yous were words that never came easy to the son of a tyrant.

Lord Norwood cleared his throat and handed over the ridiculous feminine purse. "If you would not mind instructing your coachman to take me to my solicitor on Lombard Street, ma'am, I'll see that you're reimbursed for your troubles."

The old lady snorted again, and the young one leaned forward and patted his hand condescendingly. "Do not trouble yourself so for it, sir. Once we have you settled into comfortable quarters, we'll discuss repayment."

To this the old lady said, "Rubbish. You might as well tell him what you want and be done with it."

Drake frowned. How would he ever get on in a place where everyone talked in circles? "There's no need for that, ma'am--er, Miss--"

"I believe introductions are in order," the young one said cheerfully. "My name is Miss Claresta Huntington and this is my third cousin and devoted companion, Miss Nancy Edwards."

"Drake Lockwood, ma'am." He did the pretty as best he could in the confines of the squab seating with skirts flanking him on each side of his knees.

"Why, you're an American, aren't you?" Claresta couldn't be happier. She had heard about the bumpkins and spendthrifts that abounded in the Colonies. Well, she understood it was called the United States of America now, but her grandpapa had never allowed any of his family to acknowledge that fact. Her lips curved in remembrance of the old reprobate. He would find it quite amusing how she intended to make use of a descendant of England's former nemesis.

"As I was about to say, Miss Huntington, I have a room reserved at the Clarendon--"

"The Clarendon?"

"Yep," Drake said, wondering what he'd done to wipe that smile off her lovely face..

"And you have a solicitor?"

"A Mr. Denton on Lombard Street, ma'am."

"Perhaps, sir," the older woman said, waving at his attire, "you should tell us how you came to such low circumstance."

Drake felt heat rise along his neck. Suddenly conscious of his less than dapper appearance, he rubbed a hand over his bearded chin. Too weary to care before leaving the Black Eagle, he'd not shaved. His clothes looked as if he'd slept in them, which he recalled he had, and he knew after a quick glance in a mirror this morning that he still carried a rather gaunt look about him. He'd intended to check into the Clarendon and make himself more presentable before seeing the solicitor, but that couldn't be helped now.

Not since the day Druscilla arrived at Oakcrest when he was little more than Charlie's age had Drake cause to be embarrassed by an unkempt appearance. He wasn't the sort to make excuses, however, nor did he feel he owed any now.

"Driver, stop the carriage!" Then to the startle-faced young miss, he said, "I've imposed on your kindness long enough. If you will give me your address, ma'am, I shall send around a voucher."

"You cannot leave--I mean . . ." Claresta tried to think of a way to detain him. Obviously, even derelicts had a proud streak. He seemed to want her to believe in his respectability. Perhaps if she allowed him to carry out his farce to the end, he'd be more susceptible to her offer when she made it. "I see no reason we should not see you to your destination. Lombard Street, you say?"

Claresta relaxed when he eased back into his seat and nodded. His eyes narrowed on her, and she noted their breathtaking blue color.

Drake was unable to avert his gaze. Her eyes, an unusual amber hue, reflected tiny yellow sparks when she smiled.

They must have been perusing each other for some time, for the old lady leaned forward and slapped him on the wrist. Having effectively broken the mysterious spell, she sat back and made that disdainful sound with her nose again. "If someone doesn't instruct poor Waverly soon, I fear we'll be sitting here all day."

"Waverly," Miss Huntington said, as a pretty pink flush crept up her neck, "set the carriage about to Lombard Street. A Mr. Denton's office, if you please."

As they got underway, Drake found it impossible to avert his gaze from Miss Huntington. She was the vibrant sort one did not ignore easily. Her amber eyes glowed with tiny sparks of gold, and her lips were parted slightly with Mona Lisa secretiveness. What man could resist such a lovely picture?

If he were enraptured, she seemed captivated, possibly out of a curiosity she was too polite to indulge. Her companion had questioned Drake’s lowered circumstance, but although, Miss Huntington must have a hundred questions about him, she kept them to herself. Or had she already made up her mind that he was nothing more than the scaff and raff the innkeeper had called him?

Drake could think of no way to defend his appearance, or his financial setback, without making things worse. Tossing one’s accounts over the side of the Black Eagle for three weeks, and being outwitted by a pair of urchins could only make him sound like a infirm cluck. He looked forward to proving himself worthy of her regard. It was an effort he’d not had to make in a very long time. Taking visual measure of each other, they rode in silence until they reached Lombard.

The companion’s snuffling announcement, "We're here," brought Drake out of his reverie.

"I-I shall go with you." Miss Huntington snapped her fan open and waved it rapidly before her face. "Uh, the carriage is a bit confining, is it not?"

"As you wish." Drake suspected her wish to accompany him was due to her worry he might not pay the debt he owed her. He reasoned that the English were a suspicious lot and remembered the incredulous look the innkeeper had given him when he’d promised to return later with money for his breakfast tab. Back home a man's word was his bond.

When he asked if Miss Edwards wished to escape the confining coach, the lady snorted. Drake took that as a no and escorted Miss Huntington inside the brownstone building without her companion.

They approached a bespectacled man sitting at the front desk, and Drake said for the first time with pride, "I'm the heir of Norwood, here to speak to Mr. John F. Denton."

He reveled in the shocked gasp from Miss Huntington.

"Lord Norwood. We've been expecting you for several . . ." The man's voice slowed as he lifted his wire-rimmed frames up his nose and eyed Drake with disbelief.

Claresta didn't know which befuddled her most, the fact Drake Lockwood claimed to be a titled gentleman, or that the clerk staring at him with such scorn happened to be her father's former warehouse manager. She'd fired the man just over a year ago after he could not explain the discrepancies in the company ledgers. All forthcoming applicants for the position gave the same dire prophecy for the company that Baines had the day she'd discharged him and he’d stomped out of her library in a huff. She'd taken over the reins herself and proved them all wrong.

"I had a bit of a delay. Rough weather, you know." Drake wasn't about to admit he'd been holed up on the Black Eagle for the previous day and night recovering from the ill effects of his sea voyage.

He smiled down at Miss Huntington when she squeezed his arm. She said to the clerk, "Well, do not keep Lord Norwood waiting, sir."

"Of course, er," the long-necked man squinted at her. "Miss Huntington. I thought I recognized you."

"I should think so, Mr. Baines. A year hence you were in my father's employ. How fortunate for you to have found another clerking position."

"'Tis temporary, I assure you," he said, clearly happy to relate his good fortune. "I'm eating my terms with the King's Counsel in the Court of Chancery. In a short time I shall be called to the bar and afterwards will enter partnership with Mr. Denton."

"Well, one would wonder how one comes into such a fortunate circumstance." Claresta knew he understood her meaning when a ruddy cast lit his narrow cheekbones. She could not prove Baines had embezzled from Gilbert and Huntington, but she would lay a month's profit it were so.

"Should I say his lordship is accompanied by his, er, fiancée?" Baines asked pungently.

How humiliating, Claresta thought. The miscreant apparently knew of her current plight. No doubt she was being pointed out on street corners as the disparate ape-leader without the good sense to accept her fate.

When Viscount Langley, her escort to Vauxhall last week, refused her proposal, she’d suddenly realized the most impoverished rake of London had been her last hope of finding a husband among the gentry.

Now, if things didn't work out with the American, perhaps she would have to accept Westhaven’s proposal or lose all. She pulled her shawl about her shoulders to ward off the sudden chill that ran through her.

Lord Norwood noticed a paleness seep into the young lady's lovely face. He wondered if the clerk caused it. He caught the fellow peering over the thin wire rim of his spectacles and raking Miss Huntington with a gimlet eye. It was enough to tempt Drake to take a poke at Baines. And how did the lout jump to such ridiculous conclusions about the lady? Fiancée, indeed!

Drake drew his six feet plus frame straight and glared down at the rude rascal. Even in his deteriorated condition, he stood a head taller and outweighed Baines by at least forty or fifty pounds. "You may say," Drake said, measuring the words in an even slower drawl than was normal, "the heir to Norwood Estates is here, and be quick about it. We don't have all day to dawdle."

The lank fellow, perceiving the air of menace in the American's voice, nearly stumbled over his own feet in his haste to present Lord Norwood to his employer. Within moments he reappeared and said nervously, "R-right this way, my lord."

Claresta began to have some doubts about the man she'd befriended. Could he really be the heir to an earldom that everyone in London knew had gone unclaimed for the past five years? If she were not so curious, she'd return to her carriage and renew her search for another marital prospect without delay.

Denton rose hesitantly from his chair and circled his overflowing desk. A short man, quite round in the middle, he appeared rather frivolous wearing a black coat with a garish yellow waistcoat beneath. His cravat had been starched so stiffly the points stuck out like armor around his cheekbones. His dove gray stockings had large clock designs on them. He greeted Claresta with a negligible bow before extending his flaccid hand to Drake.

Drake wasn't used to doing business with such fops, but he would withhold judgment of Denton’s abilities until he knew him better.

"So glad you arrived safely, my lord," Denton said. "I did not know you had friends in London." His attention returning to Claresta he added, "We haven't met before, Miss Huntington, but your reputation has become quite well known in the, er, district."

"I shall take that as a compliment, sir."

"As it was intended, I assure you. Do have a seat." Denton indicated the high backed crimson chairs in front of his desk. He took his chair behind the desk and said to Drake, "I must say, I'd about given up hope that you would claim your inheritance a'tall, my lord. Your great-uncle has been dead neigh on five years now. Funds have been quite depleted due to maintenance of the properties, you see."

"Could we just get on with it, sir?"

Denton pushed his spectacles up his bulbous nose. "Yes, yes, of course. I can see you've not had a chance to freshen up, so you must be very anxious to have done with the formalities."

Drake was getting tired of everyone referring to his poor state of dress. He was eager to remedy the situation as soon as possible and hoped his trunks would be at the Clarendon by the time he arrived. He couldn’t help wondering if Miss Huntington might be experiencing some embarrassment by his appearance. Something had caused her lovely smile to disappear since entering Denton's office.

The solicitor asked, "I assume you've brought your paperwork with you, my lord."

Drake patted his pockets and came up with a sheaf of papers he handed over to Mr. Denton. The solicitor unfolded the communiqué and after a pregnant pause, he read aloud, "Find a reputable valet. Order a carriage--"

Drake snatched the instructions compiled by his stepmother from Denton's hands. "Sorry, wrong paper."

Claresta's good humor returned when her future husband--for she was determined now it was to be so--was unable to produce the papers in question. He put on a good show of searching, but she suspected it had been for her benefit. Apparently the fellow had heard about this Earl of Norwood's inheritance and, not realizing the extent of legal verification required, decided to lay claim to the estates.

"Perhaps your lordship left the papers in your trunks, or you could have dropped them somewhere. At the inn perhaps," she suggested with raised brow.

He looked at her as if she'd grown horns atop her head and mumbled, "Those blasted children!"

* * *

As the gentleman escorted Claresta to her carriage, she dismissed the forlorn expression on his face as part of his act. She expected that next he would ask her for a loan for room and board until he could find these mysterious papers. A loan she would be happy to advance him, once he agreed to her conditions.

"Do not worry, sir, for 'tis but a minor setback."

"Minor setback," he repeated with a heavy breath. "I fear it may take several weeks to requisition a replacement of the paperwork Denton requires."

Claresta truly gloated inside, but she managed a sympathetic smile.

"Since the only funds I brought were stolen as well, I'm afraid I shall be hard pressed to repay your kindness any time soon, Miss Huntington," Drake said ruefully.

"Fret not, sir. You have a room at the Clarendon, you say?" No doubt the American had heard of the famous hotel and threw it out randomly while trying to impress her with his position. She had not enjoyed such entertainment since she was a child and played such hooks and crooks on her father and his friends.

"Yes. But, I shall not impose on you further." Drake tipped his hat. "Until we meet again."

"Wait!" Claresta gripped his loose coat sleeve. This was not going as she had envisioned, but surely he was bluffing. "There's no need for you to walk, sir. My companion and I would be happy to drop you at the Clarendon on our way home."

"No need, ma'am. I might ask you to point me in the right direction, however. Walking is the best way I know to clear a body's head, and mine is more than a bit muddled at the moment."

"But-but," Claresta stammered, trying to think of a way to detain her prospective fiancé. "You may have trouble getting your accommodations approved without money for a deposit, or--or proof of who you are. Sir, if that be the case, I'm acquainted with the manager at the Clarendon and am certain he would accept my recommendation."

Drake narrowed his eyes on the comely chit. It hadn't passed his notice that she referred to him as sir now instead of my lord. Obviously she didn't believe him the heir to the Norwood title anymore than Denton had. The solicitor had practically tossed him from his office.

Either Miss Huntington was a fool or the most generous human being he'd ever met. He opted to believe the latter, for he remembered her act of kindness before he'd ever told her about his inheritance.

"There is no need to worry about me, my dear." He lifted her gloved hand briefly to his lips. Finding her delicate fragrance appealing, he lingered over her hand longer than he should. " If the Clarendon won't take me in, then I'll find accommodations elsewhere. I'm not unused to sleeping beneath the stars when necessary."

The trek into town from Oakcrest was a long one, and there were no inns along the way, but he did not think Miss Huntington would understand such rustic living. Drake knew he was right when her eyes clouded up. He cursed his ill-bred manners for causing the worry lines that appeared across her beautiful forehead. A strange desire to kiss more than her hand almost overwhelmed him. He stepped back, hoping the distance would curb his other more sinful reactions, and said, "I fear I've caused you undue concern, Miss Huntington. Knowing Druscilla, I imagine she stuffed some extra coins into my luggage, and there shall be nothing to worry about."

Instead of reassuring the lovely, the frown furrowing her brow deepened. She swallowed, and Drake found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the delicate movement of her slender throat.

"Druscilla? Your wife?" she squeaked.

The old lady who'd been quietly waiting near the carriage snorted loudly.

Drake would have laughed, but it would be very ill mannered, and he did not wish to embarrass the sweet flower standing before him. He realized now why she had helped him. He'd attracted the opposite sex many times before, but most of the society women were more subtle in letting him know it. Perhaps things worked differently with the English.

"Druscilla is my step-mother."

"Your step-mother?" Claresta felt enormous relief, for she had not thought of the possibility that Drake Lockwood was already married. It would be extremely inconvenient if she had to begin her search for a husband all over again. She wouldn't be likely to find another from the dock area with such impeccable manners and so agreeable to look upon. She shivered inside at the tingling sensation remaining on the back of her gloved hand from his brief kiss.

"My step-mother," he repeated. "I only just thought of it, but she often treats me like the ten year old I was when she first married my father. In this case I reckon I ought to be grateful."

"But you are not?"

"Let's just say I'm capable of taking care of myself. But if Druscilla has held true to form, then I will be grateful in this one instance, for I'll be able to see that you are reimbursed sooner than I could have hoped otherwise."

"Then you will come to Gilbert House for dinner tomorrow evening. If your step-mother did not leave things as you expect, we can discuss particulars on another way you can repay me."

Drake lifted a dark brow.

Claresta blushed, realizing how inappropriate her proposition sounded without explanation. He seemed to ignore another nasal titter from her circumspect companion and turned to gather directions to the hotel from her coachman.

She watched anxiously as Drake Lockwood strolled away and wondered if he were really going to the Clarendon. How would she maintain contact if she couldn't find him again? Then she remembered Denton read "valet" from the list presented to him by mistake.

"Shipley," she said as she extracted several guineas from her purse. "The gentleman needs a valet. I wish you to offer your services to Lockwood. Make certain he's properly registered at the Clarendon and see to any other of his needs."

"I daresay, he doesn't seem the sort to accept such generosity, Miss." The butler dubiously scrutinized the coins she held in her open palm.

"Yes, yes, of course you're right," Claresta said, thinking Shipley meant the man would balk at accepting the money from a servant. "He did seem to relish a proud streak, didn't he? But, I believe he's in need of assistance. And he may be our last hope, Shipley. Pray, do what you can to appease his proud streak and I'll see to the rest."

"Very well, Miss." Shipley turned and followed the unsuspecting bridegroom without taking Miss Huntington's coins.

"Well, if that don't beat all," Nan sniffed as she watched the reserved butler disappear around the corner. "'Tis the most words that man's spoken in years."

CHAPTER THREE

Alone, Reginald Huntington, Baron Westhaven, paced Claresta’s office. He hoped she would not still be so angry with him that she would refuse to frank him enough for a game or two of piquet at Lord Marchand’s card party tonight. Things would be so much easier if he had access to the company safe, he thought, eyeing the locked apparatus in the corner of the warehouse office. He observed the untidy desk and wondered if perhaps his cousin had left a guinea or two lying about the disorganized stacks of papers.

He moved closer to examine the desktop and uncovered a small cask that appeared to have possibilities. An acrid smell snaked out and set him to wheezing and sneezing.

Reginald covered his offended nose with his handkerchief and suddenly wished he’d waited until his cousin returned home later in the day instead of coming to this odorous and disagreeable haunt of hers. But, blast it, Claresta had not answered his three missives pleading with her to visit him and his mother in Grosvenor Square where their business could be conducted in private. His creditors were becoming impatient, and he, quite desperate.

Damn his cousin and her clutchfisted ways. It was quite humbling to have to plead with her for an advance on his quarterly allotment. She even had the audacity to lecture him about the results of constant gaming. Although she did not speak it aloud, he knew she was thinking of his own father’s disgrace. He plopped down in the chair behind the large desk. If he were to be forced to wait, he might as well make good use of his time. One at a time, he jerked open the desk drawers and rummaged around inside for any loose coins Claresta might have hoarded there. Finding nothing but more dusty papers, he slammed the last drawer closed. He stood up and looked about for another source to pry into. But, his eyes began to burn again, and he had to wipe them to see clearly.

* * *

Claresta swung the door to her office open and came to a standstill when she saw Reggie standing behind her desk. She wondered that the gamboge yellow coat and orange breeches he wore did not strike her blind.

He dropped the handkerchief away from his face and greeted her with an innocent, ready smile that was diluted somewhat by the moisture accumulating around his eyes. The air was filled with a pungent odor Claresta recognized as coming from the sample cask of asafetida.

Reggie moved from behind her desk, dabbing at his eyes as he greeted her. "My dear, cousin. How lovely you look today."

Claresta arched a suspicious brow, for Reggie’s compliments usually preceded a petition for money. She gave him a negligible nod and said, "I daresay, you should have sent word you were coming, my lord. I’m expecting a client at any moment and am a bit pressed for time."

Reggie lifted his lace handkerchief to abort another sneeze when she fanned a stack of papers from the desk and sent a waft of dust and incense flying into the air. "Good Lord, Claresta, this dwelling is hideous. Don’t you ever have it cleaned?"

She did, but she thought it a waste of time explaining how impossible the task due to the openness and constant traffic in and out of the office from the warehouse. Dirt also flew in from the windows, the only ventilation and relief from the, sometimes overwhelming, scents of spices and other aromatic merchandise.

She recapped the small cask of asafetida, then set about straightening the clutter of paperwork. She wished Reggie would go about his business as quickly as possible. When the warehouse clock chimed the noon hour, she prompted, "It must have been a pressing matter for you to come out at such an early hour, Lord Westhaven."

Her cut went over Reginald’s head as he preened at her use of his title. She rarely showed him such respect, usually referring to him by the nickname she’d attached to him in their youth instead.

"Pressing, indeed, Claresta. I have come to make amends for our little tiff the other evening. You must know my concern was only for your regard by the Beau Monde. Being seen alone at such entertainment as Vauxhall with the disreputable Viscount Langley could only damage your reputation."

"My reputation?" Claresta almost laughed at the ridiculous attempt Reggie made to inveigle his way into her good graces. "Was it not you who recently informed me I’d already blackened my book beyond repair?"

"Lud, ‘twas just a warning, Claresta. ‘Tis not too late, with my guidance, of course, to salvage your good name. I spoke to a gentleman recommended to me recently about taking over the affairs of Gilbert and Huntington, and I believe he can be depended upon to put things to rights. I cannot have my wife’s name bruited about in such a fashion."

Claresta picked up a receiving bill and pretended to skim the contents. She was becoming quite tired of Lord Westhaven’s ongoing crusade. "You are attics to let, Reggie, if you still have illusions that you and I will wed." She lifted her gaze toward him and added with a dash of agitation, "And what right have you to discuss my affairs with anyone?"

Her thick-witted cousin only gloated when she lost her temper, evidenced now by his sly, self-satisfied smile and suddenly superior air when he said, "You are the one holding to illusions, Claresta. Why don’t you quit making a cake of yourself and come about? You cannot doubt that I hold your own interests at heart. I have only two more months to wait and the inheritance will fall to me anyway."

"I shall find a husband before then."

"Never!" Westhaven declared and guffawed.

"We shall see." Claresta’s confident smile seemed to fluster Reginald and leave his mouth hanging in mid-laugh. A knock sounded at the door, and she eagerly called, "Enter."

Edwin stepped into the office. The brothers shared similar features; high forehead, long angular nose, and dimpled chin, but the resemblance ended there. Edwin stood a few inches taller than his brother but was much thinner through the shoulders. Claresta knew a few more years of maturing would take care of that slight. Reggie’s raking scrutiny of the young man indicated his disdain of Edwin’s somber gray suit and limp shirt points.

Edwin cast his brother a discerning nod, then smiled amiably at his employer. "Claresta, the dye merchant has arrived. He is inspecting the shipment of indigo, but I instructed Martin to show him to the office when he is finished. Should I tell him you’re available?"

"Yes, do." She then said to Reggie, "You will excuse me, my lord?"

Lord Westhaven didn’t take well to being dismissed in favor of a merchant. He swiped his beaver hat off the rack so quickly he lost his grasp and dropped it to the floor. He whipped around and saw the glitter of amusement his cousin and brother exchanged. The blood rushed to his head as he picked up the hat, but he maintained his composure and said to Claresta, "Our discussion is not ended."

"Yes, Reggie, it is quite ended."

He remembered his immediate needs and sputtered, "But I wish to discuss--"

"The answer is no, Reggie." Claresta knew he was about to ask for another advance, and she’d already warned him she’d not allow him to overextend his quarter allowance again. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a client waiting."

In an angry flush, Westhaven flung open the door and in his haste to exit he bounced off Martin Shore’s hard frame. Like a pebble hitting cobblestone, he greeted the floor with a hard bounce.

"Help me to my feet, you, er . . ." looking up at the simpleton Claresta employed for heavy labor, Reginald rethought the insult that was about to pass his lips. The man stood at least seven feet tall. His arms crossed over his chest put his lordship in mind of ancient cudgels used for battle.

Edwin rushed to his brother’s assistance, but Lord Westhaven suffered another indignity when a sharp ripping sound indicated his tight pantaloons had split a seam. He decided he could lay blame for his misfortune to Claresta’s abominable curse.

He straightened his long coat, hoping it covered the backside exposure. The giant still hovered over him, and Reggie backed away a few steps before recollecting his much higher rank. Cautiously he informed the dullard, "Step aside, my good man. Can’t you see I’m in a rush?"

Claresta gave her cousin points for ignoring the merchant’s muffled chuckle as he passed him. She greeted her client. "Mr. Frazier, you are punctual, as usual. Do come in. Edwin, I’ll need you to join us."

The merchant waited for Claresta to take the seat behind the desk, then being a busy man himself, he immediately got to the business at hand. Once a price for the indigo was settled, he entreated her to store the merchandise until he was ready for it to be processed. Edwin, seated in the other chair facing the desk, piped in with, "Space in the warehouse is quite precious at this season."

"Of course, I’d be more than willing to pay for storage," Frazier said.

Edwin winked at Claresta when the dye merchant agreed to his request for a very generous sum for storage. Someday soon she suspected that Edwin would be more adept at running the business than she.

She sat by quietly and allowed him to work out the details of the arrangement with the dye maker. When Edwin glanced at her with a proud gleam in his eyes, she realized her younger cousin was the only Huntington relation that she truly adored.

The dear boy had offered to marry her himself, but she valued his friendship too much to hobble him to an arrangement he would feel honor bound to uphold for the rest of his life. Besides, she did not want to cause an even larger rift between he and his family.

Aunt Ester and Reggie were already furious with Edwin for defying their wishes and taking the position of Claresta’s much depended upon assistant. They attributed his conduct to the youthful air of cynicism that surely no gentleman of the peerage would fault him for. "My dear, Edwin," she said, looking up at her lank-framed cousin after the client departed, "I’m quite proud of you. I never would have expected Mr. Frazier to offer such a generous storage fee."

"You never know what you can get until you ask!" An amber twinkle, very much an imitation of her own, appeared in his eyes.

"And did you talk to the agent aboard the Black Eagle about the chamomile?"

"Yes, and he purchased the entire stock."

"Market price?"

"Just below." Edwin shook his head gravely and quoted the exact amount.

"Well don’t fret so about it, Edwin. You did manage to rid us of the entire lot and since we paid far below market, we still made a nice profit." She knew Edwin expected every deal to yield large gains, and he took his failures to bring about such to heart. She’d experienced similar pangs when she first took over the business. "Never know what you can get until you ask, indeed," Claresta mocked, for it was a motto she’d repeated quite often during Edwin’s earlier apprenticeship. "How very resourceful of you to throw my words back at me, my boy."

"Speaking of resourceful, how did you fare on your early morning commission?" Edwin’s humor returned quickly once he knew Claresta wasn’t disappointed in him.

"Quite well, I believe. The gentleman professes to be the Earl of Norwood, but methinks he’s pulling a sham." Her brow furrowed as she contemplated the uncertainty of his background. Drake Lockwood, or whatever his name was, appeared to conduct himself like a gentleman, but then a scapegrace was supposed to be convincing. "He’s an American. And I believe he came to London hoping to better his circumstance. I should know more after I speak with him at dinner."

"You invited a perfect stranger to dine with you? A barbarian from the Colonies? Alone? I must say, I don’t like that above half, Claresta."

"Well, I dare say, he is quite refined for a Colonial. Anyway, we won’t be alone. Mr. Thurmond will be present to explain the details of the proposed arrangement."

"Your solicitor is hardly a creditable chaperone," Edwin said with disapproval.

Claresta almost laughed at her cousin’s protective streak. Besides Nan, he was the only person she allowed to remonstrate with her over her lax decorum. "Then, my friend, I shall rely upon your presence to put things to rights. I’m certain Mr. Thurmond can use a witness to validate the agreement, should the gentleman not be opposed to the idea."

"And if he is?" Edwin arched one tawny brow.

"Then I shall have to convince him otherwise. Everyone has a price, my innocent. I just have to find Drake Lockwood’s."

* * *

Though sufficiently awed by Shipley’s expertise at turning a rustic into a Gentleman of Fashion, Drake was unused to anyone dressing him. Neither was he accustomed to wearing his waistcoats quite so snug nor a collar that stood with such high stiffness. Miss Huntington had gone a bit far by sending her butler to serve as his valet. Had the poor devil not looked so out of frame when Drake tried to refuse his services, Drake would not have relented and let him stay.

Acquiring a valet may have been first on his stepmother’s

list, but Drake had already mentally crossed off the item as an unnecessary expense. But, it was of no consequence to allow the man to attend him, since the old fellow seemed to have his heart set on doing so.

A tailor was not top among his own priorities either, but Shipley had coerced him into attending one that afternoon for clothing more suitable to "his new station in life." Since Drake did not want a repeat of the gawks and gapes of those he met yesterday, he relented to his valet’s better judgment. Several articles of clothing to tide Drake over until his new wardrobe would be ready were also selected. The merchant assured him that payment at a later date was standard procedure among the nobles. Drake had never owed anyone before and felt uneasy at the prospect, but under the circumstances, credit was a necessity, he supposed, to survive the forthcoming week until Captain Mercer sailed back to London Harbour.

"The lady will stare, my lord."

Drake tried to cast a discreet look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t want to hurt the old gent’s feelings, but if people were going to stare . . . Blast it all! He had to turn his entire body every time he wanted to look in another direction. He twisted at the snow-white cravat tied with a knot any hangman would be proud of.

Shipley cleared his throat and shook his head.

"Well," Drake said, dropping his hand and taking another stiff-neck, objective view in the cheval mirror, "I suppose Druscilla would be happy if she could see me dressed, uh . . .to the nines."

"You look very smart, my lord."

Drake eyed the man acting as his valet suspiciously. Unlike the man’s mistress, the butler didn’t seem to have any doubt of Drake’s heritage.

He stepped back when Shipley came towards him with a flashy sapphire stickpin. "That isn’t mine," he protested.

"Of course ‘tisn’t. Miss Huntington sent ‘round her father’s jewelry case for you to partake of as you so desire."

"Well I don’t desire, so please return it." Drake tugged at the cravat until he could breathe easier. He appreciated the lady’s generous spirit--he may have wound up in the gaol without her help--but confound it if he was going to become a charity case for her.

If his stepmother had held true to form, he’d not be standing upon the generosity of Miss Huntington now. Thankfully, he would not have to remain obliged to the lady for more than a fortnight. He’d also need to write a message to his man of business in America and give it to Mercer so another set of verification papers and a letter of introduction could be dispatched posthaste. He was anxious to begin overseeing his new country estate, and if the Norwood estates were as depleted as Denton had said, he may have to withdraw more funds than anticipated to put things in order.

"Very well, my lord." Shipley saw no point in arguing. If his lordship would quit rearranging his attire, he’d cut quite a figure without any adornments. He ignored the gentleman’s pointed glare as he brushed imaginary lint off his new master’s shoulders, then slid his hands down to straighten the cravat to a nicety, he hoped, for the last time. A tap came at the door and Shipley went to answer it.

He returned momentarily to the dressing room and informed his lordship that Miss Huntington’s coachman had arrived to take him to Gilbert House.

Drake caught himself just in time to keep his hand from twisting at the cravat again, and Shipley emitted an audible sigh of relief. He wondered if Miss Huntington would be as impressed with his appearance as her butler seemed to be.

Shipley said, "Your cape, my lord. It’s rather chilly in London in the evenings."

Drake allowed the valet to drape the garment over his shoulders. He was reminded of the discomfort he felt the first time Druscilla insisted on bundling him up before he went out in the snow. She’d knitted him a fine scarf, but he never told her he liked it. Instead, he’d ranted at her to stop trying to act his mother. He’d realized how much he must have sounded like his disagreeable father, but he’d been eight years without the touch of a loving hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she had Mitchell to fuss over, and Drake had escaped the brunt of her molly-coddling ways.

"Perhaps, Shipley," Drake said, turning stiffly, "I should take along the jewelry case and return it to Miss Huntington myself."

Shipley almost smiled, at least, Drake thought the eyes cloaked mostly by the squint turned a more vibrant hue.

The valet was quite pleased with his lordship’s decision. In spite of the gentleman’s reduced state of affairs, he fought to do the right thing. If Lord Norwood did not allow his pride to rule his head, he would be a perfect match for Miss Huntington. Shipley handed over the jewelry case and said, "To be sure, ‘tis an ethical gesture. But, considering your circumstances, sir, I pray you shall give other settlements the lady offers more practical consideration."

"Settlements?"

The coachman, waiting to escort Drake to his conveyance, cleared his throat. Shipley bowed and turned back into the suite, leaving Drake to wonder if all English valets were such eccentric prattle-boxes. Nothing the man had said made the least bit of sense.

CHAPTER FOUR

"I believe you will find him quite acceptable," Claresta said, responding to her solicitor’s bracing lecture on "social misfits from the Colonies." She had told him about the American and that she intended to offer him the previously discussed marriage contract.

When she mentioned the document again, patches of feathery gray spikes surrounding Thurmond’s bald pate waved as his head moved back and forth. For one never at a loss for words, he made an unusually lengthy display of hemming and hawing, and clearing his throat before he finally said, "I say, my gel, I thought you jested when you asked for such an, er, unconventional certificate."

"Mr. Thurmond," she said tightly, "are you saying you did not prepare the settlement agreement as I asked you?"

"Now, now, don’t get out of humor with me, young lady. ‘Tis better to work out the details with your intended first, what? Leastwise, saves a deuced amount of time in the long run."

"I suppose," Claresta conceded. Thurmond’s biggest problem was his inability to take her seriously. However, her grandfather’s old friend would have to learn that she was mature and serious-minded and not the mischievous youngster who used to enjoy spoofing him at every turn. "I never make light of business decisions, Mr. Thurmond. Do I, Edwin?"

"Never," Edwin agreed. "Glass of sherry, Cousin?" Without waiting for a reply he filled two glasses and handed her one. Thurmond still clutched the brandy Nan had poured him when he first arrived.

"Never?" Thurmond uttered distractedly as he came to stand before her. He abruptly stopped his pacing, and his gaze strayed to her décolletage. Claresta barely resisted an urge to tug at the neckline of her pale yellow gown. Nan had made such a fuss over the cut of the gown earlier, Claresta was glad her housekeeper had taken herself off to check on the progress of dinner and not witnessed Mr. Thurmond’s odd behavior.

It wasn’t like her grandfather’s old friend to leer, but having lifted his quizzing glass over his right eye, he lingered overlong upon that bare expanse of flesh above her neckline.

"Never," Claresta reiterated and leaned forward to place the glass of sherry she didn’t want upon the sofa table.

"Egad!" Thurmond’s face turned a molten shade, and his quizzing glass dropped to his side as he straightened and promptly sat down upon the gold damask sofa opposite her. It was the first interval of silence since he’d walked into the room.

There was no reason to feel self-conscious, Claresta assured herself, about her decision to marry a stranger or the garment she’d selected to dazzle the unsuspecting American. She had witnessed numerous ladies dressed in much more daring gowns strolling through the gardens at Vauxhall last week.

Edwin, sitting on the sofa beside the solicitor, grinned and winked at her. Of course, her cousin had no way of knowing about the knots that gripped her stomach or he would not be teasing her so. She’d been suffering second thoughts all day about meeting with the prospective husband again. She’d encouraged several suitors these last few months, but before she’d had the opportunity to follow through with a proposal something disastrous always happened. She glanced at the mantel clock and wondered what could be delaying Mr. Lockwood.

"A Colonial!" Thurmond gulped the brandy he’d been nursing.

"I’m sure when you meet the American, you will find him quite likable." Claresta realized her fingers would make shreds of her lace handkerchief if she didn’t stop twisting it. She stuffed the article back in her sleeve and clasped her hands together, resting them on her lap. Why she was being so fidgety, she did not know. She hadn’t committed to anything as yet, a fact her solicitor had pointed out several times during his long, reproving lectures on the subject.

"It isn’t important whether I like him or not, what Huntington?" Without giving Edwin a chance to reply, Mr. Thurmond continued, having obviously overcome his moment’s repose. "By gads! Picked him up in a tavern, did you now?"

Edwin covered his lips and converted his laughter to a cough when Claresta gave him an arctic glare. She should never have invited Edwin, knowing it wasn’t unusual for him to enjoy a great deal of entertainment at her expense. But, were the situations reversed, she knew she would be equally amused. It was always tit-for-tat for the two of them, and she would gain retribution at some later date. She said to Mr. Thurmond, "I pray you will hold judgment until you meet him, sir. Indeed, he appears to have fallen on hard times, but I assure you he conducts himself as a perfect gentleman."

"Military, perhaps?" Edwin quizzed just to egg the solicitor on. Thurmond was a veteran of the Colonial war. He wearied Claresta sometimes with his endless pontificating on the subject.

"Military? Egad, man, I certainly think not. An American with manners, you say? No blasted Colonial soldier ever got a dab of gentleman’s training that I know of. Fought like dragons in the rebellion. Claresta’s grandfather could a told you it was so, God rest his soul. Washington’s traitorous bunch crossed the ice-clogged Delaware and marched nine miles through a sleet storm just so they could take the Hessian mercenaries by surprise, they did. Intractable and fierce, the whole lot of ‘em."

"And brave," Claresta inserted, for she’d heard the story many times from her grandfather, and he had spoken of harboring a degree of respect for the Colonials’ brazen behavior.

"Brave? Too dumb to know when it was time to go in out of the freeze, more like. Bloody cold that day. Enough to make one’s teeth chatter, it was. Barefoot, bleeding, clothes tattered and torn, the poor devils were either knocked-in-the-cradle or had a severe case of brain fever to keep going like they did."

Claresta pointed out as tactfully as possible to the blunt speaking gentleman, "Mr. Thurmond, I must ask you to remember it is an American who will be my guest this evening. I’d rather you refrain from discussing your views on his countrymen during dinner."

"Ah, ha. That would be rather ill mannered, what Huntington?" he asked, as if remembering Edwin was the one who brought the subject up.

"Quite. But I see no reason we can’t talk about whatever we like before he arrives," Edwin said coyly and cut a wicked grin when Claresta made a slight groan. "Claresta’s grandfather was something wasn’t he, Mr. Thurmond?"

Edwin wasn’t trying to punish his cousin, but war was a subject he never tired of hearing about. As a second son he would have gone to the Napoleonic battles had his father left enough blunt to pay for a commission. There were times he could understand his brother’s feelings of being cheated out of his inheritance. But Edwin wasn’t one to blame others for his problems as Reginald often did. And until Claresta gave him the position with the company, he’d spent most of his days dreaming about having the sort of adventures that others lived out in reality. "Tell us again how Captain Gilbert saved you from the rebels after you were wounded and cut off from your unit."

"Right oh, in ‘81, I believe. Captain Gilbert was a good deal older than most of the commissioned officers. Wiser too. Took me under his wing, he did. Treated me like the son he never had. If his daughter had been more patient, might of been so, too. Mary went and married Clifton Huntington that same year, without waiting for her father to approve her choice. Course, Huntington was the right sort, you know, upstanding and from a good family so there was no reason for her to doubt the captain would be pleased. But you know all that, what? Being a Huntington yourself, his loving nephew and all."

Thurmond’s voice held an edge to it Claresta had never heard before. She listened intently as he continued, "Eventually we became good friends. Captain Gilbert was a bit put out, though. Never did take to his son-in-law much, but there you go. Not much he could do about it then, now was there? A bit disappointed, the old boy was, that he didn’t at least get a grandson out of the union." He glanced sheepishly at Claresta, and added, "Not to say he wasn’t right proud when his darling little granddaughter was born, even if he did have to wait nigh on ten years after the nuptials for the happy event."

Claresta nearly toppled out of the chair, she’d leaned so far forward in her attentiveness. She’d never heard Thurmond go into such detail about this part of the story before, and she hadn’t wanted to miss a word. "I didn’t realize you and Mother were betrothed, sir."

"Betrothed? Well, uh hmmm, hadn’t the chance to put my suit to the lady, what? Off to war so long and all that. But Captain Gilbert said he wanted me to marry his daughter and go into the business with him, he did. Promised me a partnership of sorts. But, I say, I’m getting off the subject. ‘Tis the rescue you wanted to hear about, Huntington. Happened at Yorktown. Cornwallis had been ordered by General Clinton to take up a defensive position . . ."

Unlike her cousin, Claresta didn’t enjoy listening to war stories that she’d heard numerous times in the past. She was saved from enduring a repeat of this one when Douglas, the clumsy footman who’d taken over Shipley’s butler duties, stumbled into the room. In a heavy Scottish burr, he announced her guest of honor.

"Dur-rake Luke-woood, Eeeaarl of Nurr-wood, is ‘ere, lass, er, miss."

Claresta stood with the others to greet the gentleman, but for a moment she could do nothing more than gawk. Drake Lockwood no longer looked the part of a derelict. Her gaze raked him from head to toe. A neatly tied white cravat, decently starched linen, dark blue superfine coat, buff-colored waistcoat with just a hint of stripes, and a pair of pale fawn pantaloons did wonders for his appearance. She also noted his Hessians were polished to a brilliant shine and the slate blue coat fit snugly across erect, broad shoulders that a day ago had seemed narrow and slouchy.

Lockwood’s coat brought out the same lighter blue shades sparkling in his eyes as they settled upon Claresta. He bowed over her hand, and she self-consciously raised the other one to rest on the unclothed area over her heart.

"You look very lovely this evening, Miss Huntington."

"Thank you, sir. You look . . ." mesmerized by his steady gaze, she started to tell him he looked lovely too, but that would never do. Claresta wasn’t used to complimenting a gentleman, but she had started to speak and now must make the best of it. "You quite make me stare, sir."

She didn’t understand why he suddenly stiffened and frowned, until he said, "Well, Shipley warned me. But you can lay fault at his door, ma’am. He insisted on decking me out in these Sunday go-to-prayer-meeting clothes. I don’t cotton much to wearing jewelry, either, much as I appreciate your generosity, ma’am." He handed the jewelry case to her.

Edwin laughed.

Claresta quickly sat the case on the side table and took Lockwood’s arm as he spun in her cousin’s direction. She felt the muscles of his forearm cord beneath the fabric. The impression of taut strength touching her fingers gave her a warm, not unpleasant, tingling sensation. She gave her cousin a warning glance. If he offended Drake Lockwood, she’d never forgive him. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to begin her search all over again when she had the perfect specimen, literally, within her grasp.

She squeezed Drake’s forearm gently and said, "Please forgive my cousin, sir. Edwin is only amused by the obvious language barrier. To have one stare at you is a great compliment."

"I daresay, you shall get used to such taradiddle soon enough," Edwin said judiciously and stuck out his hand in friendship as Claresta made introductions.

Drake did not take offense that Miss Huntington did not use his title, but referred to him only as Drake Lockwood from America. He could not blame her for doubting him. Time would prove his lineage. Her cousin, Edwin, seemed familiar. He gave Drake’s hand a firm shake.

"I reckon I could get quite used to a lot of your English ways," Drake said, "if I had Miss Huntington to interpret them for me." Drake looked down at the beauty beside him, and she turned pink in the face. He could not believe she was not used to such compliments.

"Egad. Don’t say as how I understand all the young folks’ gabble myself. So much gibberish they speak now a days. But, I do believe you were right, Claresta. A gentlemen to the core." Without waiting for introductions, the talkative man added, "Giddeon Thurmond, retired Advocate in Doctors’ Commons, at your service, sir."

Drake shook the stout, gray-headed man’s hand, and after several hardy up and down jerks, he wondered if the man would ever let go. Thurmond kept pumping vigorously until Drake finally broke the grasp and asked, "You’re a lawyer?"

"Right oh, sir. Solicitor, as it were. Lawyer is a fair antiquated title in England."

The elderly man placed his quizzing glass up to his right eye and gave Drake a ‘stare’ that made him blasted uncomfortable. Then the gent continued as he looked Drake up and down, "Could have been a barrister on the King’s bench, you know. No money in such though. Same with the Advocacy. Learned that soon enough. No use to a namby-pamby title if one can’t make enough blunt to live up to it. I say, dear fellow," Thurmond’s quizzing glass dropped and bounced from the ribbons holding it to his waistcoat, "no offense."

"None taken, sir." Drake noticed his hostess’ creamy skin, a good deal of which was showing, turn a pretty pink shade again. He smiled at her to set her mind at ease. "If you’re referring to my current misfortunes, of which I assume Miss Huntington has told you, ‘tis nothing more than a temporary setback."

"To be sure, sir, to be sure. I imagine we will be wanting to get on with the particulars right after dinner, what?"

Drake puzzled over the remark and turned to the young woman hoping for an explanation.

Claresta was relieved that Nan chose that moment to enter the room and announce that dinner was ready. The housekeeper had insisted on overseeing the meal since Shipley was not present to do so and the footman was a trifle inexperienced. Claresta knew her relative probably wanted to keep an eye on things, as well. "’Tis indecent for a young lady to entertain three gentlemen with no other females present." Nan had told her.

She’d reminded Nan that at five and twenty Society no longer considered her young, and she’d long ago ruined her chances by engaging in trade. And if Nan was so worried she should be taking the meal with them. Nan’s reply had been a very loud snort.

A few minutes later, Claresta realized the wisdom of her housekeeper taking over Shipley’s duties. Nan barely salvaged the soup tray from the hands of the bungling footman when Douglas caught his toe on the runner in front of the threshold. He went sailing across the polished oak floor on elbows and knees, much like a fallen skater gliding effortlessly over an ice pond.

Lockwood immediately went to the poor wretch’s side.

Nan snorted, Edwin coughed, and Thurmond said "Egad" at least three times in a row.

Miss Huntington blushed prettily but promptly stood, took Douglas’s other arm, and assisted Drake in helping the footman to his feet.

"You okay there, fellow?" Drake asked.

"Aye, oim o’ right, sur." Douglas gripped the tails of his livery and tugged it back into place. Attempting to straighten his wig, he pushed it askew to the opposite side. He laughed good-naturedly, abandoning the austere demeanor a footman should exhibit. Realizing his blunder when Nan glared at him meaningfully, Douglas stiffened, stepped back a pace and bowed politely. "Thank ye, m’lord."

He made his exit, following Nan back to the kitchen. Everyone sat down and dipped into the delicate turtle soup Nan had discreetly laid out during the commotion. Except for the steady tinkling sound of spoons touching china, a long interval of silence prevailed.

Finally, Edwin chuckled, and Mr. Thurmond repeated, "Egad."

Drake held a straight face until Miss Huntington tried unsuccessfully to hide her pretty smile behind her napkin. He tugged it away from her lips and together they burst into laughter.

When they all regained their composure, Edwin said, "I warned you the man was never meant for this sort of duty, Cousin."

Thurmond added, "Right oh, my dear. You cannot go ‘round offering positions to every sad rattle that shows up on your warehouse steps no matter how successful the business."

Drake couldn’t help but notice the sudden pause in conversation following the lawyer’s remark. He knew the English looked askance at its well-born citizens mucking around in trade. They were on his stepmother’s list under People he should avoid socially. Druscilla seemed to forget that his shipping business had made their venture to the mother country possible. Strangely no funds had been sent from the Norwood estate to allay his expenses to claim his title, even though the New York contact sent word to Denton, Norwood’s solicitor, advising him a legitimate heir had been found. Curiosity drove him to ask the young lady, "Warehouse? What sort of business?"

Miss Huntington’s spoon clattered against her soup dish, causing all eyes to turn on her. Her nervous titter and pretty blush added to Drake’s interest.

Claresta stuffed a bite of potato into her mouth, chewed and smiled. Chewing gave her a little more time to think what to say. From the good manners and intellect he exhibited, she realized that Lockwood may have fallen on hard times, but he was not your average ne’er-do-well. He may be more of a stickler for convention than she’d anticipated. She might as well get the worst over with, she thought, and swallowed. She washed the dry lump down with wine. I--"

"An import and export business. I manage it for her, you see," Edwin said, coming to her rescue with an outright lie. "Gilbert and Huntington was established by Claresta’s grandfather Gilbert."

"Gilbert and Huntington? Yes, I’ve heard of it. It must have been quite an undertaking for someone with barely above a score of years on his plate."

"Be that as it may," Edwin said, "an irresponsible agent made waste of the business during her father’s lingering illness, and Claresta had the devil of a time finding a reliable replacement. Wouldn’t do for a lady to be involved in such ventures, now would it? So what was I to do, but step in and take over."

Claresta cast a murderous glance at her cousin, warning him not to do it up too brown. He coughed, and she could see the gleam of enjoyment in his eyes over taking credit for her hard work.

"Right oh." Mr. Thurmond got into the swing of the deception. "Bang up job you do of it, too, my boy. Made Claresta a very wealthy lady, very wealthy indeed."

"How true," Edwin said. Adding salt to the sauce, he added, "You’ll be interested to know, Mr. Thurmond, that I just made another hefty profit on a load of chamomile tea I sold recently."

Claresta dithered with her conscience momentarily, but now that the deception had started she could not refute her cousin’s words. Nor could she deny her relief that an explanation of her trade connections was taken out of her hands for the moment. Not that Lockwood wouldn’t have to be told the truth of it eventually. Preferably, not until after the nuptials were performed. "Well done, Edwin. You are an excellent steward."

Her left eye started to twitch, an occurrence that plagued her when she outright lied. More times than she could remember, her father had caught her out by the strange phenomenon.

"Interesting," Drake said. He now remembered the young man he’d purchased the chamomile from, but Edwin’s bartering hadn’t seemed to be quite as skillful as one would expect from the head of a successful company like Gilbert and Huntington. He decided to test Edwin’s memory and see if he recognized him. The interior of Captain Mercer’s office had been dimly lit that morning. With a thick layer of beard stubble and wrinkled attire, Drake knew he had sported a contrasting appearance from the one he now presented. "The Black Eagle, the ship I came over on carried just such a shipment. Could it be the same?"

"Yes," Claresta said too quickly. She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze, hoping the infernal twitch in her eye would cease. But, unless one observed her very closely, it usually went unnoticed. "At least, I believe that is the ship you mentioned, wasn’t it, Edwin?"

"Really, Huntington, you should do something for that nasty cough," Thurmond remarked and smacked his lips after slurping the last of his soup.

"Shall I have Nan make up one of her possets for you, Cousin? I remember how the mere mention of her curatives used to make you well in a trice." Claresta was grateful for a chance to turn the subject to something else. Her nervous eye immediately returned to normal.

"As it still does." Edwin shuddered with exaggeration.

Nan, bringing in the next course, trout seasoned with dill, overheard their remarks and made a frog-like sound as she passed behind Edwin’s chair. Douglas moved ahead of Nan and carefully placed the removes on the tray atop the buffet one at a time. In this manner he carried out his duty and only dropped one spoon upon the floor with a clatter. Everyone ignored the small mishap.

The rest of the meal went along reasonably well until, during the final course--a rich creamy chocolate soufflé--Lockwood asked after the plight of veterans returning from the Napoleonic war. Sympathetic to the predicament of the many soldiers flooding the city looking for work, Claresta gave him the grim picture. Douglas had been one of those soldiers arriving without sixpence in his pocket for food or shelter. The conversation led to Edwin asking the American gentleman if he’d ever served in the military.

"Not officially."

"Ho, ho!" Thurmond expostulated. "Not officially. What does that mean?"

"Simply that I volunteered to go up to Ft. McHenry in the summer of ‘14, but by the time I got there things were pretty much settled."

"Delayed by weather, what? Blasted foul storms along the American coastline in the summertime," Thurmond said blotting his lips with the monogrammed linen.

"Wasn’t the weather. Had several fields of wheat at Oakcrest to harvest before I could leave."

"Oakcrest?" Claresta asked.

"My brother’s plantation."

Even if his brother did own a plantation, Drake Lockwood was obviously quite poor. It also explained his refined manners. Claresta couldn’t fault the man for wanting to better himself, but he should learn to do it more honestly than laying claim to a gentleman’s title.

Before the others realized he’d as much as admitted he was only a notch above a field hand, she stood, bringing dinner to an end. The men agreed to forego the port and cigars in favor of accompanying Claresta to the music room where she offered to play the pianoforte and sing.

Her American guest chose a ballad from among her variety of sheet music and offered to turn the pages for her. Her voice lilted softly as she sang "Greensleeves." Remembering that it was a favorite of her father’s put her in a melancholy mood. Lockwood’s arm brushed her shoulder as he reached over to turn the page, and she blundered. She received a pleasant surprise when his deep baritone voice picked up the chorus and covered her momentary lapse.

After they finished the lovely ballad together, Edwin took his leave as he’d promised to meet some friends at his club. Before he left he glanced at Drake, wondering again at the mysterious look in the American’s eyes when he’d mentioned the Black Eagle earlier. The gentleman seemed vaguely familiar and Edwin figured Lockwood, if the nondescript pauper Claresta thought him to be, must have been one of the crew members he’d seen aboard. Poor chap must have worked for his passage.

Nan served tea in the library where Claresta and Thurmond took her prospective bridegroom to make her proposal. Before they could get down to business however, a loud disturbance came from the front entrance. Douglas appeared and nearly toppled off his feet when Lord Westhaven brushed past him.

Claresta rose to her feet and demanded, "Reginald, what is the meaning of this?"

"My dear, I’m so sorry for the intrusion. When this wantwit answered the door instead of Shipley, I thought him to be unaware that you never keep family standing around in the foyer to be announced. Of course, the lout did not tell me you were entertaining guests. It is a rather urgent matter or I would not have insisted upon speaking with you, I assure you."

Had Shipley answered the door, Claresta thought, her cousin would likely have been left waiting on the front steps instead. If Reggie’s urgent business was to wheedle for another advance, she’d be tempted to box his ears. "What brings you into The Strand at this hour?"

"In due time, cousin, in due time. It would be quite rude of me not to first allow you to introduce me to your guest."

Claresta could not help noticing the American staring at Lord Westhaven’s saffron knee smalls and a burnt orange waistcoat with green hummingbirds embroidered. Reggie returned the April gawk and she quickly made the introductions, hoping her cousin did not create a scene in front of Lockwood.

"Now, tell me what is so urgent that it could not wait until tomorrow," Claresta commanded impatiently.

"Ah, ‘tis Maman. She is suddenly taken ill and wishes to see you right away."

"Aunt Ester? Ill? But, she is always so . . . so robust," Claresta said.

"True, true, that is why when she requested your presence, I did not hesitate a moment to come for you."

"Well, of course, I shall go to her," she paused, glancing at Drake and Mr. Thurmond, then added, "later."

"Right you are. You must consider your guests," Reggie said with a condescending glare at Drake.

"I should be going anyway, ma’am," Lockwood said. "My new valet strikes me as the sort who takes his duties rather seriously. It would be pretty shabby of me to keep him waiting up too late."

Claresta thought his worry for Shipley an endearing but telling character flaw for one trying to claim he was a member of the realm. No member of that peerage would put a servant’s comfort before his own. But what was she to do? He was leaving before she even had a chance to present her proposal. "Being new to London, perhaps you would allow me to introduce you to the sights?"

"I hate to keep imposing on your hospitality, ma’am."

"Perhaps the gentleman would rather see the city from a man’s perspective. I would be happy to accommodate you on a tour, sir, anytime you say," Reggie offered.

"Well now," Drake said with a hint of condescension, "that’s mighty kind of you, Westhaven, but I’d be a fool to turn down the escort of a beautiful lady."

"But," Westhaven sputtered, "My cousin is a very busy lady."

"Not that busy, cousin." Claresta hoped Reginald knew better than to flaunt her endeavors. Her aunt would have something to say about it, if he did. And tired of her cousin’s careless mouth, she’d make certain Lady Westhaven found out about any more of Reggie’s shenanigans. Aunt Ester didn’t like anything that reflected badly on the family. She had deceived herself into believing there were still a few circles where Claresta’s activities were not well known. And in others, Lady Westhaven had been able to attest to her second son’s efforts to mediate in business matters on Claresta’s behalf, saving the family from total ridicule. It was much more acceptable for a second son to be involved in trade than a female relative. She did not know how her aunt was handling the latest on-dit started by Lady Chelsworth.

Lord Westhaven said, "As you wish, but if you should change your mind, my offer still stands."

Claresta sighed inwardly with relief. Her cousin wasn’t going to make a scene, and she’d have another turn at Lockwood. Perhaps she should become more acquainted with the gentlemen before making her offer, anyway. But not too acquainted, she thought, wondering how he’d react once he found out she personally ran one of the most successful import businesses in London. She’d best get Thurmond working on that marriage agreement. "Don’t forget the little matter you promised to take care of for me, Mr. Thurmond."

"Huh? Oh, yes indeed. Would you like me to go over the details with--"

"Just take care of the preliminaries if you will. I’m sure we can go over the particulars with the other party at a later date." Realizing that she sounded too businesslike, she added, "I mean, you do think that would be best, don’t you? Goodness me, Mr. Thurmond, I do so rely on your expertise in these matters that are so complicated for one to comprehend." She clamped her hand over her left eyelid when it kicked into it’s own blinking rhythm again.

Thurmond scratched the bald spot on his head, puzzled at first because Claresta had a better handle on the legalities of matters sometimes than he did. Eventually, he caught on to her ploy. "Oh, gads, yes. Get on it right away, I will?"

* * *

Thurmond offered Drake a ride back to the Clarendon, saving Claresta’s coachman from making another outing. Rather than talking about Miss Huntington as Drake would have preferred, the lawyer quizzed him during the entire trip about his inheritance, his background, and his family connections in America. He answered as politely as possible, without breaking number five on Druscilla’s list, which warned him not to speak of his involvement in trade or his management of the plantation. Luckily no one seemed to have picked up on the latter lapse he’d made during the conversation at dinner.

Drake didn’t like this subterfuge that Druscilla insisted upon. It rather limited his conversations. Since there was little he knew about anything besides crops or shipping, the lack of things to converse on made him appear quite the bumpkin. Whatever would Miss Huntington think of him when she discovered he knew nothing about how to conduct himself as a titled gentleman?

CHAPTER FIVE

Claresta noticed the slow, clip-clopping progress Reggie’s coach made over the cobblestone streets. "If your mother requested my presence in haste, why is your coachman taking his time reaching Grosvenor Square?"

Reggie’s corpulent lips quivered. Claresta hoped he wasn’t about to have a fit of the vapors, for never having suffered a swoon herself, she did not carry vinaigrette.

Finally, he replied, "I wanted a few extra moments of your time before you see Maman."

"Why? Is Aunt Ester’s illness that serious?" Alarmed by Reggie’s reluctance to answer right away, she whispered, "Surely, she--she is not dying. I know I have been remiss in my visits, but only two weeks ago she seemed in perfect health."

Her father’s illness progressed at such a slow pace that he had been moribund for more than two years. Claresta had not even realized the seriousness of his condition until he’d become bedridden. But, she had heard of ailments such as putrid fever that could take one away in less than a sennight.

She allowed her cousin to capture her hand in his, bracing herself for the worst possible news. She wasn’t unsympathetic, nor disrespectful to her relative’s condition, but she wondered if her designing aunt would resort to dying as a way of preventing Claresta from fulfilling her father’s stipulation to wed. Another year of mourning would do it, she thought. Then, she dismissed the idea as too foolish even for Aunt Ester.

"Well," Reggie hedged, "not precisely. Maman has been suffering such disquietude of late that it has resulted in a wavering spirit."

Disquietude? Wavering spirit? She knew her cousin blamed her for any anxiety his mother endured. One of the reasons for Claresta’s infrequent visits was to avoid another of Aunt Ester’s lambasting lectures. As her cousin rambled on, suspicion began to slip into Claresta’s thoughts. She narrowed her eyes on her cousin.

"What precisely is ailing my aunt? And it had better be significant for you to have claimed such urgency."

Reggie chuckled nervously. "Mother wishes to speak with you about your latest gambit to acquire a husband, as do I. Proclaiming her ill may have been a slight exaggeration, but a necessary ruse to save you from making a grave mistake. I did it for your own good."

"My--My own good!" Claresta had known Reggie for years but she was still amazed sometimes by his rationale. "My dear, misguided cousin," she said ruefully, "your idiocy is exceeded only by your impertinence. I cannot see how disrupting a perfectly lovely dinner party could possibly have been for my own good. Not to mention the embarrassment I will incur should Lockwood ask after my ailing relative, and I will have to attest to Aunt Ester’s perfect health."

Reggie’s face swelled to a puffy redness. "Lord Norwood, is he? A pretender to the peerage, more like. ‘Tis more than obvious should one consider his manner of dress."

Claresta emitted a sharp laugh. "Pray tell, elaborate if you would on that evaluation."

Reggie at first appeared flustered as how to explain. Finally, he said, "Let us just say Brummell would give him the cut direct were he here to witness such provincial getup."

"Brummell’s a fine example, to be sure," she said with an acerbic smile. "His excessive good taste, the desire to remain the first stare of the ton, overreached his pocketbook and was likely the cause of his sudden departure from London."

"You are a vicious little chit to impugn a gentleman’s reputation with such hearsay. Anyone can have a run of bad luck."

Claresta imagined Reggie could identify with such circumstances, although she would blame recklessness rather than bad luck which caused his losses at the gaming tables.

Rather than going off on that tangent, she turned away and peered out the coach window to get her bearings. Something about the length of time it was taking to reach Grosvenor Square made her uneasy.

"It was Lockwood’s countrified habits we were speaking of," Reggie said. ‘Course I did not have a chance to converse with the man at length, but it was easy to note even your Scottish butler has a less drawling voice. ‘Tis a sign of ignorance, to be sure. By the bye, what happened to Shipley?"

Claresta allowed the yellow curtain to drop back into place. In the darkness, she could not tell which street the driver had just turned down anyway. Surely they should have reached their destination by now. She wasn’t in the mood to explain Shipley’s new position, so she countered his comments about Drake Lockwood.

"He’s recently arrived from America," she said. That explained the gentleman’s way of speaking, but would do little toward promoting his integrity, which Claresta had a natural wish to uphold. Forgetting for the moment an illiterate provincial was everything she’d desired when she went searching for her matrimonial prospect, she defended Lockwood, "I find the gentleman’s silence a refreshing change. When he does speak, he does not waste time with a lot of frivolous chitchat."

Reggie did not take the hint. "You are such an innocent at times, my dear. This American leads you to believe he is something he is not and you have fallen for his game. ‘Tis exactly why I came to rescue you. There seems the need to save your reputation from a worse tumble than it has already taken."

"Deuce take my reputation and you, too, Reggie!" She snatched up her cousin’s cane and banged the roof of the coach. "Driver turn back to Gilbert House at once."

The coachman ignored her demands and kept up the steady pace toward Grosvenor Square. Reggie said, "You would do well to look among your own kind for a husband, Claresta."

"I have already looked, and in one way or another, they all came up lacking." Or maimed, or dead. She inwardly shuddered and then assured herself they were all uncanny happenings. No supernatural elements had been involved. It suddenly occurred to Claresta that Reggie had known about her guest before showing up at Gilbert House tonight.

"You seem to have known Lord Norwood," she decided she should use Drake Lockwood’s title from now on, whether she believed it or not, "would be there tonight, and for what purpose I invited him. Pray tell me, Reggie, how you learned of my plans for this evening?" She hoped Edwin was not his source, for she would never forgive him for being a tattletale.

"Egad, Claresta. All of London has probably heard by now of the upstart laying claim to the Norwood title and . . . and of the lady who accompanied him to Lester Denton’s office yesterday morning."

"And you think to salvage my reputation, dear cousin. How utterly sweet," she said sourly as the coach finally pulled in front of her aunt’s townhouse. Claresta tried to brace herself for the tongue-lashing she knew was coming.

The butler showed Claresta into the green parlor with Reggie following close behind. At first, she thought the lady might actually be ill. Her aunt had enough excess flesh to keep half London warm through the winter, yet she sat with a lap robe snugly tucked around her knees and her wing chair pulled close to the fire. If she was feeling the least incapacitated, she quickly recovered upon spying Claresta.

"Well," Lady Westhaven said. "It is about time you came." She spoke this as if it were her niece’s fault the trip across Mayfair had taken so long. Her bulk of a figure towered over her niece by at least a head as she stood. Claresta sank to the sofa and clasped her hands into a tight ball.

Her aunt fulfilled Claresta’s dreaded expectations. The lady reminded her niece that her every action reflected poorly on her and Reginald, moving in Society as they did. Lady Westhaven paced the floor and berated Claresta at length for her most recent conduct. Neither she nor Reggie interrupted Aunt Ester’s ripping peal.

"You must desist this unnatural behavior at once." She sniffled, and dabbed her handkerchief delicately beneath each eye. In a tearful quiver, she added, "You are a disgrace to your father’s name."

Of all things her aunt had said, this was the one that pulled at Claresta’s conscience the most. As she considered the source of the reprimand, however, the complaint lost some of its sting. Even before involving herself in business or implementing her current method of acquiring a husband, she’d been a disappointment to her aunt. Though Claresta had had two seasons among the ton, she had scorned all offers of marriage then, an unpardonable sin in the eyes of Society, and most especially Aunt Ester.

Claresta’s father, too, had remonstrated with her over her stubborn resolve to make a love match or none at all. Love would come later, he’d told her, as it had for he and her mother. What a foolish romantic she had been. Was her stubbornness to now come back and haunt her? Claresta lifted her head from the fog in which she’d been transported in time to catch some of her aunt’s continued oration.

". . . circumstance, it is generous of Reginald to still have you. Marrying a gentleman with a title and standing among the ton will be the only way to correct the shame you have brought upon your family."

Claresta wondered if her aunt had forgotten the shame brought on the family by Uncle Cedric. But she was tired and ready to put an end to her aunt’s remonstrations. "I quite agree with you."

Ester gave her a steady, perplexed look, then sank onto the gold brocade sofa beside her. The gilded clock on the mantelpiece began to chime. When it completed striking the midnight hour, Lady Westhaven said, "There, Reginald, did I not say my niece is a sensible woman who could be reasoned with?"

Reggie, striking a pose beside the hearth, said, "You are right as always, Mother. You are agreeable to a marriage then, are you not, Claresta?" Reggie asked hopefully.

They both looked at her with such gratitude that Claresta was almost reluctant to bring the effusive pair to ground. "Quite agreeable that marrying a titled gentleman is just the thing. That is precisely why Lord Norwood should make a worthwhile consort."

"Norwood!"

The duet of voices rang loudly in Claresta’s ears.

While her aunt sat looking too stunned to speak, Reggie dropped his pose and sputtered about for words. "B-But . . . you do not mean to, cannot possibly . . ."

Claresta smiled sanguinely. "I quite understand how my good news has left you both speechless. Congratulate me at a later date, if you will. Now, I’m ever so tired and would be grateful if you would instruct your coachman to see me home."

Not waiting for a reply she rose and walked out. The coachman was positioned by the front door, anticipating her return trip. Thankfully, he followed her orders to transport her back to Gilbert House without waiting for instructions from his master.

* * *

As Drake had predicted, Shipley waited up for him. After he removed Drake’s coat, the valet presented him with a billet brought to the hotel during his absence.

He had only met Miss Huntington and the Norwood solicitor since arriving in London yesterday. He knew the message couldn’t be from the former since he’d just left her side. "Don’t say Denton has had a change of heart and decided to accept my claim at face value?"

"I could not say, sir. ‘Tis not my habit to read my employer’s correspondence."

Drake grinned at the cocky reply. Shipley did not show a spiritless demeanor, which said much about what Miss Huntington tolerated among her servants. Drake did not believe such an untamed household was anymore common in England than it was back home. But he’d always found that employees who were allowed to voice their own opinions made more loyal retainers.

He broke the wax seal on the message and puzzled over its contents. "It appears I am being summoned by the Dowager Lady Norwood. Do you know anything about her, Shipley?"

"Not much, my lord. I believe she is incapacitated to some extent. I’ve heard it said she has lived rather a reclusive life since her husband passed on."

"Well, the lady demands to see me posthaste."

"Then will you be going out again, my lord?"

Drake refolded the missive and after tossing it back onto the salver upon which Shipley had presented it, he tugged ruthlessly at his cravat. "I think it too late to call at this hour. Send round a message in the morning that I shall present myself at her residence tomorrow evening. Miss Huntington invited me for a tour of the city tomorrow." He grinned. "I do believe it would be wise to keep our engagement. What think you, Shipley?"

"Wise, indeed, my lord." A slight turn of the valet’s lips gave the tinniest impression of a smile as his hands were batted away from the buttons on Lord Norwood’s shirtfront.

* * *

Having agreed upon a very early start, Claresta arrived at the hotel Clarendon just after ten. She wanted the trek through Hyde Park over before the first circles of Society made their parade. Since that did not usually occur until five or so in the afternoon, she had plenty of leeway. Not that any ton member would deem to stop and converse with her, but the fact none of them would might be just as telling. She intended to give Drake Lockwood a full accounting of her circumstance . . . after they were wed.

Then he could stay or go as he wished, for she would have fulfilled the mandate in her father’s will. The thought that Norwood might decide to go, or that he might loathe her for her deceit, disturbed her somewhat, but why, she could not say.

Her groom went up to the rooms to get Lord Norwood, and when the gentleman came down the hotel steps, her heart fluttered mysteriously. She’d never experienced such a reaction before and wondered if she were coming down with something.

"You look lovely this morning, Miss Huntington," he said and lifted her hand to his lips.

A tingle ran the length of her arm. Most strange. She withdrew her hand quickly and stuttered, "D-do you drive, sir?"

"Of course," he smiled, and she blinked to make sure she wasn’t looking at an apparition. He appeared so devilishly handsome in a light brown morning coat with brass buttons. The man didn’t dress in the strictest order of fashion, but the subdued shade certainly suited his bronzed features and again brought out the vivid dark shades vying for dominance in his blue eyes. His wide palm closed around her hand as he assisted her into the carriage, and a frisson of awareness shot up her arm. She remonstrated with herself for such school girlish behavior and turned to her groom. The elderly man was getting on in years and the last time she’d required him for an all day outing, she’d noted how tiring the ordeal had been for him. Besides, she wished him to grill Shipley about what he’d learned of Lockwood thus far. "Then I dare say, we won’t be needing you to drive us, Thomas. You can visit with Shipley until we return."

Though seemingly reluctant, the elderly groom knew what was required of him and stayed behind as Claresta ordered. Lord Norwood took up the ribbons of the curricle and slapped them gently against the horses’ hindquarters. "It is a fine pair of grays you have, Miss Huntington."

"Yes. My father had a good eye for cattle. He purchased them shortly before he became ill." Ruefully, Claresta added, "I fear, though, he did not get much chance to enjoy them."

Drake noticed the sad lilt to her voice and remembered she wore gray that day at the tavern. "You miss your father terribly? Was his passing recent?"

"Just over a year, and quite naturally I miss him."

Quite naturally, she missed him. Drake wondered what Miss Huntington would say if he told her he quite naturally didn’t miss his father one whit. He doubted she could understand his lack of affection for his parent. But he should have known the query was coming.

"Are your parents still living?"

"My mother died when I was but a tyke. I hardly remember her, but I’m told she was a very generous and lovely lady."

"Oh, how tragic to not remember a mother’s loving touch. My mother succumbed giving birth to a son. My brother never drew breath. I’d just turned seven and was rather spoiled, I’m afraid. I took her passing as a personal affront. I wonder that Father didn’t lose patience, but he was always so kind, even when I became the most unruly brat ever. And your father?"

"He passed on a number of years ago." He snapped the reigns, picking up the bloods’ pace to a brisk trot.

Claresta wondered why Drake did not say more about his father. She opened her mouth to ask after the gentleman, but as they entered the gate into Hyde Park, Norwood slowed the curricle and switched the subject, commenting on the beauty of the landscape. As they traveled the path nearer to the mile long waterway that snaked through the park, she explained it had been more or less manmade as a dam had been built on the Westbourne to create the Serpentine.

A gentleman, sitting astride a sleek black mount on the pathway near the Serpentine, tipped his hat to them. Claresta almost shrank against the carriage squabs when she recognized Viscount Langley.

As Drake brought the carriage to a stop alongside, Langley dismounted and bowed to Claresta. The viscount was dressed in a stylish coat adorned with epaulets and brass buttons that imitated the military style of dress de mode with the apes of Society. He extended a long, slender hand to Lord Norwood as she introduced them. Langley lifted one dark brow on his high, aristocratic forehead and smiled at Claresta. She realized his handsome visage never caused the pitter-pat in her heart that she’d felt upon seeing Lord Norwood this morning.

The gentlemen exchanged a few pleasantries, but Drake was reticent with his responses to Langley’s conversation. Claresta placed her hand upon Drake’s arm and returned his smile when he looked down at her.

The viscount said to Claresta, "By Jove, when you set your mind to a matter you go bowling at a grand rate, don’t you, Miss Huntington? An earl now, is it? Well, I wish you happy and all that. ‘Tis much more than you could have expected from this quarter, I dare say."

Claresta knew Viscount Langley wasn’t a vindictive sort, but neither was he very astute about tact, either. She would die of embarrassment if he mentioned her quest for a husband, which now seemed common knowledge among the ton. She tried to warn him not to go on about recent events relating to her situation by using various eye movements, and wrinkling her nose at him. Whether he got the message or not, she could thank the pretty young brunette that laughed gaily as her spirited mount galloped toward them for breaking the course of conversation.

A harried groom trailed behind the young woman who wore a modish crimson riding habit trimmed in black.

Claresta noticed Norwood’s eyes light with appreciation upon the attractive creature. She felt quite inadequate in comparison in her plain white morning dress. Albeit, the dress was adorned with pretty cherry ribbons round the neckline and sleeves, it could not be seen, being covered by her dark green spencer. And her green feather-trimmed bonnet, a replica of one featured in a current issue of La Belle Assembleé, didn’t compare to the girl’s elegant black brushed beaver banded with a strip of red ribbon. The long tapered ends of the ribbon, tied into a bow at the back, added a striking symmetry to the lady’s erect posture.

Lady Emmeline Chelsworth was a pixy-faced young miss in her second Season. Claresta had first met the girl at one of Aunt Ester’s soirees a season past, before her situation became so well known among the ton. Emmeline had been escorted there by her uncle, Sir Pedigrew, and had been friendly enough until she learned of Claresta’s lack of social significance. After Sir Pedigrew’s death, Lady Emmeline helped her mother spread the ugly rumors that reduced Claresta’s already seared standing with the ton to soot.

When Lady Emmeline saw whom the viscount was talking to, she stopped her mare abruptly, and the smile disappeared from her elfin face. She called out petulantly to Langley, "There you are, sir. I’ve been looking all over for you."

She managed her horse admirably as he danced sideways. Bringing her mount under control, she gave a quick glance toward Claresta, then smiled coyly at Lord Norwood as she spoke more warmly than expected. "Miss Huntington, ‘tis a fine day for riding, is it not?"

Claresta was left with no choice but to make introductions, which she had no doubt was Lady Emmeline’s intent.

"You are new to London?" Lady Emmeline asked.

"Recently arrived from America, yes," Drake replied.

"Then I must make you welcome and invite you to attend a musicale my mother is giving this evening."

"Of course." He turned to Claresta. "Are you willing to suffer my company for the evening, Miss Huntington?"

Langley coughed. He must know that Claresta would not have been invited to the musicale. But it served Lady Emmeline right for making such an invitation in her presence. Now she was left with no choice but to include her.

"Well . . .Of course, Miss Huntington is welcome to come, if she’s not elsewhere engaged."

"I’m sorry to say, I am." Claresta was pleased when Lord Norwood then declined the invitation, saying he had another engagement as well, that he’d momentarily forgotten.

"Well, Lady Emmeline, we must be off," Viscount Langley said, breaking the icy glare that the lady cast upon Claresta. "’Twas a delight to meet you, Norwood. Perhaps you’ll join me at one of the clubs soon for a game of whist."

"Perhaps," Drake said without committal.

The viscount swung into the saddle and nudged the black in the sides with his boot heels. The brunette laughed heartily again when he said something as she trotted her horse alongside him. When the two rode between the hedgerows from whence the lady had first appeared, the ignored groom kicked his horse to a canter to keep the pair in sight.

"Friendly sort," Drake said absently as he flicked the grays into movement. He’d noticed the veiled glances the viscount gave Claresta, and the way she flirted with the fellow left Drake feeling a bit touchy. Was she attracted to Viscount Langley? Could he be the previous engagement she’d spoken about? Well, he couldn’t expect a beautiful woman like Miss Huntington not to have other suitors. But then, he couldn’t count himself among her suitors, could he? And who she attached herself to was none of his affair, to be sure. He mentally shook the disrupting thoughts from his mind and drove on.

The rest of the day went along pleasant enough, too pleasant actually, Drake thought. He found Miss Huntington to be an intriguing, intelligent and amusing woman. At a museum of fine art, she taught him the difference between the artistic works of Ruben, who championed color over line, and Poussin, who chose line over color. At Madame Tusaud’s Wax Museum, she explained the process for molding the stiff poses of the famous figures. At Gunter’s, when she suddenly made a funny face at a small child, it caused him to choke on his cherry flavored ice and gather stares from the other patrons. And he was thoroughly entertained by her heckling chatter and arm waving antics to get the attention of the lion at London Tower. The uninterested beast turned his rear to his audience, and ignored them throughout their visit.

By the time they returned to the hotel, Drake had begun to worry over how bewitched he’d become by the lady. He reminded himself that he was practically committed to another.

Nearing his thirtieth year, he’d deemed it time to start setting up his own nursery. And pressures for producing a progeny mounted now that he’d need an heir for the Norwood estates. He’d thought Chastity Richardson's disposition suited him since she was quiet, shy, unassuming, and charitable. He only wished she had more enthusiasm. She had a tendency to drop her gaze and blush every time he spoke directly to her. She was a great beauty, though, even if it was her father's enticing offer of the fertile strip of land adjoining Oakcrest that at first attracted him to her. The gentleman had not been so forthcoming when he learned Drake was not to be master of Oakcrest. But, Drake had already hinted to the young lady that he would be asking for her hand in marriage, and he never went back on his word. He glanced at Miss Huntington, and suddenly regretted having made such a rash commitment.

He could not mislead the lady by enjoying her company too often. Besides, he needed to start thinking about how he was going to acquire temporary funds to set up a residence for his sister and stepmother. If he spent all his time acting like an adolescent with his head in the clouds, he’d never accomplish what he came for. So, when Miss Huntington extended another dinner invitation, though tempted to accept, he said, "Sorry, but I have a previous engagement."

CHAPTER SIX

"My lady almost despaired on your coming."

Drake felt appropriately chastised by the dowager’s butler but saw no need to explain. His late arrival in Cheyne Walk had been due to a lack of funds to hire a hackney. He’d hitched a ride on a dray leaving the kitchen entrance of the Clarendon and could hardly object when the driver stopped to make other deliveries along the way.

Drake felt a twinge of guilt for not instructing Lady Norwood’s butler that he would return at a later date when he saw the frail figure napping in a chair beside the fire. The servant tapped the gray-haired lady gently on the shoulder, and her eyes opened slowly.

"He’s here, my lady," was all the man said, then he assisted her to rise from her chair.

As she approached, Drake reached out a hand to support Lady Norwood, for she looked up at him and suddenly swayed as if she’d lost her footing.

He wore a dark green coat, loose fitting buckskins and long boots, but he did not think his unfashionable attire was reason enough for her tired gray eyes to hold him in such a long look of stupefaction.

Finally, she recovered and said, "‘Tis so kind of you to pay a call on such short notice."

He bowed politely over the widow’s gnarled hand. "My stepmother trained her sons to never ignore the summons of a lady. Besides, Druscilla gave me strict orders to pay the family’s respects as soon as possible. Your invitation saved me a trip back to Mr. Denton’s to inquire of your direction. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am."

"And I yours, my dear fellow," she took a breath and placed a small curled hand over her heart, "more than you can imagine. Forgive me for gawking, but I shall explain shortly--after I’ve had time to adjust. Do have a seat, my lord."

Instead, Drake remained standing and observed his surroundings while Lady Norwood instructed the butler to have Mrs. Minnow bring tea. The room was decorated in the popular style of the previous century--plaster walls of soft pearl shade, cloud ceilings, and wood trim with a grain effect.

Because of the subtle shades one must have a sharp eye, which Drake did, to notice the spots of chipped plaster on the walls. His eyes traveled a thin brown-edged line upward that spouted into a suspicious circle near one corner of the ceiling. Obviously, the roof was either in need or had been in need of repairs at some point in the not too distant past.

He smiled when the lady turned back to him and indicated the chair she had vacated earlier. The sparse furnishings were in the French taste. Diverse items of needlework adorned the arms and seat backs of the chairs and sofa. Obviously, Denton had not lied when he mentioned the insufficiencies of the Norwood holdings.

"I shall have to thank your step-mother. When will I meet the lady?" Lady Norwood asked. She sat down on the sofa, concealing a particularly noticeable area of frayed gold threads in the brocade fabric.

"Sooner than anticipated, I imagine," Drake said.

"Oh?"

He took a seat in the chair that faced the lady. Feeling an immediate camaraderie with the dowager, he confided, "I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself into quite a pickle. No doubt Druscilla, once she gets wind of it, will promptly board the next vessel to England. She somehow still believes she can rescue her children from any unpleasantness."

"And do you need rescuing, my lord?"

"Perhaps, but I’ve already found, or rather, been found by a damsel who seems eager to oblige me."

"Interesting," Lady Norwood said. "Thank you, Mrs. Minnow. One lump or two?" she inquired as the housekeeper sat the tray on the table and poured tea into tiny Dresden china cups. Drake remembered Shipley mentioned the widow being somewhat incapacitated. He surmised the lady could not handle the delicate tea service well with her gnarled fingers.

"None," Drake said and nodded to the housekeeper when she handed the teacup to him.

"Might I inquire of this paragon’s identity?" Lady Norwood asked.

"Miss Claresta Huntington," Drake replied without hesitation.

Lady Norwood chimed with laughter. She waved the housekeeper away when the woman inquired if there would be anything else.

Drake smiled. "I take it you know the lady."

"Know her? My dear boy, everyone in London has heard of that spirited article."

Spirited had also been his impression of Miss Huntington, but he did not think Lady Norwood used the term in a flattering way. "I suppose Clar--er, Miss Huntington may seem a bit more unconventional than most young ladies." He recalled her boldness when she’d strolled into the tavern and thrust a purse into his hand--a pink purse. He’d questioned her motives then, but having met two of her servants that any other employer would have long ago put out to pasture, he smiled. She may be spirited and outspoken, but she also had a humanitarian concern for the less fortunate that he empathized with. "I find her forthright manner quite . . ." remembering she’d very likely saved him from the gaol, he smiled and finished, "liberating."

"Don’t misunderstand me, sir. I very much admire the young lady’s pluck. Wish I’d had more of it in my day." The corners of Lady Norwood’s eyes wrinkled as she narrowed them perceptively. "I can see you’ve been shown a side of the young lady’s disposition that few have been privileged to view. However, you must beware of wolves in sheep’s clothing, dear boy."

"That’s a lesson some of your younger citizens have already taught me, ma’am," Drake said, recalling the urchins who’d fleeced him.

"I take it this lesson has something to do with your current coil?"

Drake gave her a shortened rendition of the story, leaving out the kindness he’d shown the children before they relieved him of his money and papers. Then he spoke briefly of being rescued by Miss Huntington, and her generous offer to take him up in her coach to the solicitor’s office. His meeting with the lawyer, he went on to say, "was a bit discouraging."

"I see. I suppose Denton, being a stickler for formalities, refused to accept you on face value." She again studied Drake’s features intensely and added, "Although, I cannot fathom his reticence for doing so."

"Obviously, he considers himself protecting the estate as if it were his own."

"Perhaps." Lady Norwood slowly sat her cup down. Her knotted finger had trouble letting go of the small handle, and she complained softly, "I spent two months taking the waters at Bath, and I still find little relief from this infernal stiffness."

"May I?" He reached out for her hand.

She nodded and allowed Drake to take her fingers between his palms, and he massaged them gently. She sighed and slowly relaxed.

He said, "I did this for my grandfather many times when he could get no other relief from inflammation of the joints. He used to say I had magic in my hands."

"Your grandfather knew of what he spoke. I presume you mean your maternal grandfather. Were you very close?"

"Yes, I never met my father’s sire. Father never would speak of the reasons he lost contact after he left England, but Druscilla thinks they had some kind of row over him marrying my mother."

"Catherine Sheffield. I remember her. A pretty little thing, too. I believe she came to England to see the sights while Mr. Sheffield was in London on business. Shipping, wasn’t it?"

When Drake nodded, she continued, "Quentin saw her on an outing in Hyde Park. He badgered a mutual acquaintance to arrange an introduction. Love at first sight, I’d say, if there is such a thing. His lordship became quite enraged when his nephew ran off to Gretna Green to be married. Raised the boy from a tyke, you know.

"Well, of course you didn’t, but that is a story for another time. The next thing I knew, Quentin and his new bride had set sail for the colonies and your great-uncle swore never to speak to him again. But I wouldn’t judge him too harshly, my boy. A titled gentleman’s relative marrying a colonial with no royal lineage?" She tsked.

Drake knew how much his father loved his mother. Because of that great, abiding love, he’d turned his back on his firstborn, Drake. It was of no matter now, he thought, but he was somewhat amused by the turn of events. "The old rascal must be turning in his grave, knowing a colonial is about to become the next Earl of Norwood."

"Just deserts, I dare say." Lady Norwood laughed. "So tell me about your family."

"There’s Francine, my sister, pretty as a flower in spring. She’s sweet as honey most of the time but shows a passionate disposition if things don’t go as she’d like them. My brother, Mitchell, is a strapping lad, but he’s got the easy going temperament of his mother, Druscilla."

"And your Grandfather Sheffield?"

"Passed on a couple of years ago. I miss him. He took me to live with him after Mother died. It was rough on him when my father remarried, and Druscilla requested he bring me back to Oakcrest." His grandfather never liked Druscilla, called her a shrew after Quentin died and left her progeny the home that had been Catherine’s family legacy. Drake could not blame Druscilla for the conflict between he and his father. She was often caught in the middle of their quarrels. Quentin never forgave Drake for surviving the mishap that had claimed the life of his beloved Catherine.

Allowing Drake to continue his soothing ministrations, Lady Norwood let his statement go by without comment, and got right to the business side of his inheritance. "I fear Denton has grown much attached to his long-term position as manager of the Norwood properties."

"Denton runs the country estate himself?"

"No, no, he would not think of doing something so vulgar. Denton dismissed the long-time steward and put his own man in place as retainer a couple of years after my husband passed away."

"Why? Was the Earl’s man inadequate?"

"So Denton says. Being a lady," she said most bitterly, "I’m not privy to details. I’ve not seen the ledgers of any of the holdings since Lord Norwood’s passing. I cannot get about to visit the tenants like I used to, but I’ve been told their homes are going to rack and ruin from lack of repairs. The land, too. Many of the fields have gone fallow since the change, and my banker tells me the profits have suffered greatly in the past year."

The lady seemed less concerned of her own lackluster environment than that of the tenants. If the manor house needed as much repair as the townhouse, Drake knew he’d be a good while longer returning to America for Miss Richardson than he’d hoped. He mulled this over as the lady withdrew her hand and flexed her fingers.

"Amazing," she said. "‘Tis the first freedom of movement I’ve had in my fingers in months.

The information she’d given Drake about Denton only confirmed his distrust of the man. He spoke his next thoughts aloud, "Without funds to hire a mount, I don’t suppose there’s any way I could take a look for myself."

"I am to leave for the estate at sunrise tomorrow morning. That was the reason I requested your visit posthaste. If you would not mind traveling at an old woman’s pace, it would be my pleasure to have your company."

"Are you certain, Lady Norwood? I do not wish to be a bother."

"Posh! I’d be grateful to have a younger, more reliable escort along in case of trouble. I’m afraid my staff of servants is rather thin of late. The butler and housekeeper here at Cornwell House prefer to remain in Town year round, so I do not haggle the matter. ‘Tis better to have a place occupied anyway, is it not? But, that leaves me with only my maid and coachman for escort, so your company will be well appreciated."

"It is more than I could have hoped for, Lady Norwood. Perhaps during the journey you can tell me all you know about the estate, and what other changes have occurred since Denton replaced the former earl’s steward."

"Of course. It is settled then. We shall leave first thing tomorrow morning. Now," she struggled to her feet, "I should like to show you why I’ve been giving you the stare since you arrived. Come with me."

Lady Norwood placed her hand in the crook of Drake’s arm and led him into her late husband’s study. She indicated the canvas above the mantel and said, "The late Earl of Norwood."

Drake stared in transfixed fascination. It was like looking at his own image.

* * *

Claresta hadn’t slept well, having spent most of the night trying to understand Drake Lockwood’s cool rejection to her second dinner invitation. Perhaps he did not like being pursued by a woman. She didn’t have much knowledge of such matters. She wished there was a more experienced female she could seek out for advice, but alas, who did she know other than Nan that would come to her aid?

But Lockwood seemed to have enjoyed himself the previous day. So, she decided to give it one more try and stopped by the Clarendon with intentions of inviting him on another outing. What she learned from the day clerk was not what she expected.

She arrived at the warehouse sometime later in quite a taking. Poor Edwin received the brunt of her ill humor. "Where is the inventory on the silk bolts that arrived yesterday? And why has the apothecary not picked up that asafetida sample yet?"

She waved at the foul smelling air in front of her nose and slapped a manifest down on her desk. Edwin winced when papers and dust particles flew across the room.

She recapped the small asafetida cask that someone must have accidentally uncovered again. "Did I not instruct you to have someone come in and clean this office two days ago? For heaven’s sake, Edwin, can I not take a day off without everything falling into a decline around here?"

Edwin never knew his cousin to be in such rare temper but neither was he intimidated by her highhanded ways. He spoke in a commonsense voice as he went about picking up the scattered papers off the floor. "Mrs. Jordan is coming in this afternoon to clean. I sent Martin round to Mr. Clark’s with the sample, but his wife informs us the apothecary will be out of town until the end of the month, and she refuses to allow his vile smelling herbals in her house. And, you just scattered the paperwork on the silk from here to kingdom come."

Claresta’s lips pursed into a silent "oh" as she helped Edwin pick up the documents. When they stood, taking the papers she held, Edwin stacked them into neat order upon her desk.

"Now," Edwin said kindly, "do you wish to explain the true cause of your riot and rumpus?"

"Oh, Edwin," she said and slumped into the chair behind her desk. "I fear I have made such a bungle of things, as usual."

"Do not tell me the American was not impressed with the crush at Garraway’s and the ‘Inch of Candle’ bidding, or did you send him into transports with a tedious discourse on the history of the craft guilds?" Edwin lifted his brows up and down teasingly and grinned.

"For your information, I did not go near Exchange Alley this time, nor did I discuss the guild."

"Pray you might have been wedded and widowed by now had you used such restraint with Sir Pedigrew."

"And, how was I to know the gentleman would become so overly excited at the prospects of owning a plantation in the West Indies, or that the bidding would become so competitive, or that he had a heart condition? It is bad enough that his family blamed me for his death, but I did not believe you held me responsible for the horrible incident."

"Never!" Edwin said, horrified that his teasing led to any feelings of guilt on his cousin’s part. "Do not think for one minute the man’s death lies at your door, my dear. It was not your fault that the Yorkshire gentleman on his first visit to the City took such an interest in the workings of the guild, and it was he who insisted upon the merchant’s tour. Here, let’s not speak of it ever again. Now tell me what happened with the American. Did you ask him yet?"

Claresta knew Edwin meant did she present her marriage proposal. "No, and now the opportunity to do so may be forever lost. When I went by the Clarendon to ask him to escort me to the opera tonight, he and Shipley were gone and the desk clerk gave me this note."

Edwin unfolded the note and laughed. "He thanks you for a memorable day and says that he will never again look at the backside of a lion without thinking of you."

"Not that part." Claresta snatched the billet away and pointed at the bottom of the message. "There, where it says, ‘Must leave for the countryside on unexpected business.’

"What I do not understand is his sudden departure from the city, and why did Shipley not send word of where they were going?" Claresta complained.

Edwin leaned over her shoulder and read the rest. "’I look forward to repaying you for your kindness as soon as my state of affairs are settled.’ It certainly sounds as though he intends to return."

"Yes, but it may well be too late by then. I have less than two months left to fulfill my father’s wishes. With the banns to be called and such, I have little time to waste."

"You could always look for another prospect."

"I do not want another!" Realizing how passionate her outburst, Claresta stammered, "T-There just isn’t time."

"I see," Edwin said slowly. So, his sensible cousin had become moon-struck. "Perhaps the hotel staff knows where the American has gone."

Edwin did not hold much hope of such. It was plain as a pikestaff the man’s pockets were to let. He would have to be an utter fool to leave word of his destination with the hotel which he likely skipped out without paying his shot.

"The management," said Claresta, "was just as stunned by his sudden departure as I. Seems Norwood left before daylight and the clerk, when he awoke from his doze, found the messages along with one to the hotel stating that if they delivered the missives to the appropriate parties a settlement would be forthcoming."

"Ho, Ho! Messages, do you say? Should think the magistrate will be interested in reading them. I am surprised the hotel manager allowed yours out of his possession."

"Yes, well, they were certain that mine was to assure his bill would be settled in a timely manner." When Edwin lifted his brow, Claresta explained, "I had instructed Shipley to stand behind the debt."

"Ahhhh," Edwin said, knowing his cousin likely paid the vagabond’s rent. "You do get yourself into some singular situations. I don’t suppose you saw who the other message was written to."

Claresta lifted the second note from her pocket. "Since I settled Norwood’s tab," she said, confirming Edwin’s suspicions, "the manager was glad to hand over both messages to me."

Edwin read the name on the front of the billet. "Captain Mercer? Why the captain of the Black Eagle?"

"How should I know? I did not read it." Claresta stared at the letter as if tempted to open the sealed note now.

Edwin grinned. His cousin had scruples when it came to prying into other peoples’ affairs. The night of Claresta’s dinner party, the American said he’d arrived on the Black Eagle, and Edwin remembered thinking the only explanation was the man had been of one of the crew members he’d encountered in the dim corridors of the ship’s hold that foggy morning. There could be no other explanation since the ship had been in port since the previous day and the regular passengers had long since disembarked. He thought he could put her mind to rest as to the content of the letter without ever prying the seal. "I dare say, he must have worked his way across the Atlantic as a crew member. Likely, he wishes to make similar arrangements with the captain to return."

"Return?" The thought never entered Claresta’s mind that Lockwood might be going back to America. "The Black Eagle will be back in a few days to pick up that chamomile, will it not?"

"Yes. If you like, I could pass the letter along to the captain then."

"I think not," Claresta said. She opened the top drawer to her desk and dropped the billet inside. As an afterthought, she placed the asafetida container on top of it and closed the drawer, hoping to rid the room of the acrid smell and prevent another accidental opening of the cask.

"Well," Edwin said, "if Shipley is with your American friend, I’m certain he’s keeping close tabs on him and will report his whereabouts to you soon."

With that assurance, Claresta brightened considerably. Soon she was back to her old self. She issued instructions at such a romping pace that Edwin despaired at ever being able to decipher all the scribbled notes he took to keep up with her.

"By the bye," Edwin said when she finally wound down. "Reggie was here when I arrived this morning. Said he came by to speak with you on a private matter. I told him you were due at any moment, but he stated he had urgent business elsewhere and left."

"Perhaps he got wind my recent prospect left town. Reggie will, no doubt, give me the Turkish treatment over it. You don’t suppose he had anything to do with Lockwood’s leaving?"

"I have known him to put the scare into a few of your suitors in the past," Edwin said. "But, your colonial does not strike me as the sort to be intimidated by a dandy like my brother."

Claresta smiled, for some reason feeling pleased by the respect reflected in Edwin’s voice for Drake Lockwood. "Well, I cannot think of any other reason for Reggie to visit me, unless it is to borrow money or apologize for his ruse the other evening."

Since Edwin had not heard of the events after his departure that night, she filled him in on the details. He laughed when she told him of her final declaration before leaving his mother and brother. She only hoped she would not have to recant her hasty declaration to marry Drake Lockwood.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lord Westhaven drew his phaeton into Grosvenor Square at the same time as the gentleman who’d bought up his gambling notes. It had surprised Reggie that Atwell Baines had invested his blunt on someone he predicted would be punting on the River Tick to pay pall-bearers for his own funeral.

Handing the reins to his groom, Reginald stepped to the pavement and looked down his nose at the vulgar man. It would be rather convenient owing all to one person were it not so disconcerting to be unacquainted with the man’s reasons for assuming his notes.

"’Tis quite outrageous of you to dun me at my residence, Baines."

"No more so than for you to avoid me these last few days, Westhaven."

"I told you I’d have your money soon."

Baines bowed with acerbic deference. "Soon is such a vague time frame, my lord."

"Now see here--"

A shutter snapped open on the townhouse next door, and Baines said, "Shall we go inside and conduct our meeting in private, or would you prefer the neighbors to become privy of our business arrangements?"

Reluctantly leading the uninvited guest into his home, Reggie left word with the butler that they were not to be disturbed. Such a mandate would not deter his mother should she become curious but, thankfully, she was making calls and would not return for quite some time.

Closing the library door behind them, Lord Westhaven grudgingly offered Baines a brandy. When his cousin’s former employee declined, Reggie poured a dollop for himself and downed it quickly. He refilled his glass and took the seat behind the richly polished mahogany desk. His prominent position made him feel slightly more in control. Ironically, the Chippendale desk with carved heads of philosophers adorning the corners was one of the few objects not sold off to satisfy his late father’s creditors.

After taking another bracing sip from his brandy glass, he said, "I should think after our dealings in the past that you would have come to trust me, Baines."

The man’s peppered brows arched toward his receding hairline. "Dealings, my lord?"

"Well, you know," Reggie said, unsettled by the unnatural lack of regard this under-bred had shown since acquiring his notes. Baines’ disposition had always been too top-lofty. Lord Westhaven thought to bring him down with a reminder of past disingenuousness. "It was I who talked Miss Huntington out of sending for the magistrate after she discovered the funds missing from her father’s company."

From the piercing look Baines gave him, Reggie realized that he should be paying the rotter Spanish coin rather than antagonizing him. He added rather weakly, "You might have gone to the gaol but for me."

"I might have gone to the gaol? I hope you do not mean to deny your own part in that debacle. Had you not become so blasted greedy, I might never have been found out. The larger transfers were more difficult to hide. Besides," Baines added with obvious disgust, "you should have found some way to keep the nosy chit away from the warehouse and out of affairs meant for men only. Had you done so, you might not find yourself in your current difficulties."

Reggie blushed profusely. The large transfers had benefited Baines as much as himself. Otherwise how did one of his ilk become so well to do? Drat the man for making him the scapegoat for Baines’ own stupid blunder. Too bad, Reginald thought, that he could not toss the make-bate out on his ear and wash his hands of him for good. Instead, he must play Tom Toady for a while longer. "I suppose you are right. What do you wish from me? You know I cannot pay up until the assets of Gilbert and Huntington are in my hands. Of course, Lord Castle is having a card party tonight. Not deep pocket stuff, mind you, but I could probably pick up a few groats if you could lend--"

"I am a particularly patient man, as you know, however, I’m not stupid," Baines said. "Besides, there is another investor to consider, one who is less tolerant of your situation than I."

"Another? Blast it, man. Are you trying to tell me I am under the threat of being maimed by some heavy-handed moneylender?"

"A broken leg or a busted rib? Tsk, Tsk, Lord Westhaven, why ever would you suggest such?" Just as the color returned to Lord Westhaven’s face, Baines added, "A gentleman is much more subtle in his dealings than that. But, accidents do happen, you know."

Baines took great satisfaction from the beads of sweat that popped out on the popinjay’s forehead. If it were left to him, he would have hired a cutthroat to collect from his lordship’s hide long ago. The incomprehensible chicanery of his benefactor was quite beyond Baines. The man had employed him to discover the financial hodgepodge of creditors and relieve them of Lord Westhaven’s liabilities, but he did nothing more than predict dire eventualities should his lordship fail to pay the piper.

"I had assured him that your betrothal to Miss Huntington would be published in the Morning Post long before now," Baines continued. "I cannot tell you how uncertain your future should she become engaged to another."

Reggie scoffed nervously, "She won’t."

Baines gave him a beady-eyed glare that made Reggie down the rest of his brandy and squirm in his chair. "How can you be so certain? She and the new Lord Norwood seem to have become very cozy. They were seen taking the sights together only yesterday."

"Norwood?" Reggie wondered where Baines got such information. In spite of Claresta’s declaration, he felt certain she had not made her proposal to the American. And now it looked as though she would not get another chance. "I’m surprised you refer to the man by title. Did you not tell me yourself that you believed his contentions a sham?"

"What I believe and what the man may be able to prove are two different things. But do go on and tell me what you know."

Reggie leaned forward as if delivering a great secret. "Drake Lockwood left the Clarendon early this morning and did not tell anyone where he was going. I say, does that sound like the conduct of a gentleman?"

When Baines did not respond, Reggie continued, "Therefore, there will be no wedding. And since my cousin has pretty much depleted all other prospects, she will either have to accept my offer or forfeit everything."

Seeing the slow smile that spread across Baines’ face, Reggie began to relax for the first time since entering the room. He leaned back in his chair and drained the brandy glass. He would get another reprieve from his major creditor.

After Baines left, Lord Westhaven pulled a black jewel case from his pocket, opened it and took out a sapphire stickpin. He could have offered it to Baines for collateral, but the man would probably have taken it on account and not given him the loan he needed. Reggie had a good feeling about the game at Castle’s tonight.

He twisted the fine piece of jewelry, examining it in the light. He’d coveted the stickpin many times over the years, a gift to his late uncle from his wife, Mary.

The usurer on Clarges Street probably would only give him a fraction of the value, but it would be enough to stake him to several games of play. The stone sparkled in the light and seemed to be winking wickedly at him for his immoral act.

He felt a twinge of guilt for taking the jewel case from his cousin’s house, but she really should take more care of such valuables. He had never actually stolen anything before, discounting the money Baines gave him to keep his mouth shut about embezzling from Gilbert and Huntington. But, tomorrow he would recover the article and return it to Gilbert House, and no one would be the wiser.

* * *

Claresta still suffered a case of the blue devils. Two weeks had gone by and she had received no word from Shipley or the American. Her father’s jewelry case was missing, and she could not remember if Norwood took it with him when he left that night. Heaven forbid if she should mention it to Nan. It would send the woman into paroxysms, and then she would demand they call in the magistrate. And what good would that do? Lockwood could just say he’d only decided to take her up on her offer to borrow the jewelry. She’d been duped and worse, the prospects of fulfilling her father’s decree began to look more and more hopeless.

Not one to sit idly by and allow fate to take its course, Claresta’s restlessness drove her to her writing table. She decided to compose a list of options, hoping to come up with something to elude her destiny.

Nan, in a chair near the hearth, worked on Claresta’s discarded needlepoint project--a dragon. For some strange reason she had given the beast light blue eyes which did not suit the fire-breathing beast a’tall. Nan went about changing the color to a more appropriate sooty shade.

The somber oak paneling and shelves of undisturbed books lining the walls of the library reflected the general mood of the pair for the past several days. However, Nan took the list making as the first sign of positive activity her dear Claresta had shown since the American disappeared.

Claresta lifted her head and brushed her lips lightly with the end of the feather quill. She starred out the window for several minutes, then said, "What do you think of engaging a Bow Street Runner, Nan?"

Nan made a miss-stitch, giving the dragon’s one eye a humorous arch. She barely resisted the urge to snort at Claresta’s suggestion as she plucked at the misapplied thread. She hated to see the disappointed gel throw good money after bad. "What other options have you?"

Claresta glanced down at her list. "Marry my cousin, take up residence in a country cottage and live off the fund left me by my grandfather, or jump off the London Bridge."

Nan chortled. "No harm to setting Bow Street after him, I suppose."

She had been trying to make Claresta see reason without dampening her spirits further but did not think it prudent to discourage all hope. Claresta had set her sights on marrying the American, and the stubborn miss wasn’t likely to change her mind without solid evidence of the scoundrel’s worthlessness. Perhaps a Runner could produce such proof, but Nan thought it unlikely they would restore the bridegroom prospect to Claresta anytime soon.

There was one person who could have put the dear gel’s mind to rest, and if Nan ever set eyes on that senile butler, Shipley, again, she’d give him an earful. She was about to state her sentiments on the servant’s disloyalty when a scratch came at the door.

Cook stepped into the library with a damp ladle in her hand and a frown upon her corpulent face. "’Tis a young urchin at the kitchen door begging to see ye, miss."

"Good heavens, can’t you see Miss Huntington is busy?" Nan admonished. "Feed the orphan as you do all the others that exhaust our pantry and send the wretch on his way."

"Aye, I fed the lass, I did, and I’m not ashamed of it," Cook sniffed. Claresta’s servants were not of the demure sort, and Mrs. Clover spoke without fear of reprimand. "She didn’ ask for Miss Huntington right off. ‘Twas Lord Norwood she be wantin’ a word with."

"Lord Norwood?" Claresta knew every servant in her household by now must have heard the story of the handsome gentleman she’d had to dinner a fortnight ago. How could they not, when Nan’s blistering tongue seared her at every turn over the misjudged affair? Yet Claresta was reluctant to own up that the gentleman had taken her money, her servant, and worse, her father’s jewelry, and disappeared.

"Aye," Cook said. "I told the lass no such lord ‘twas on the premises. But, even so, the gel persists to hang ‘bout. Been shivering and hovering on the stoop for nigh over an hour, she has. Said she ain’t going to budge ‘til she sees the man of the house. No gents here, I say. What with Shipley done gone off to who knows where, and that Scots rabble not to be found when you needs ‘em, ‘twas the God’s truth. Kept me ladle handy, just so--should the sprite be up to godless works, you know. Told her I would fetch the lady of the house if I could, then she was to leave. ‘Twas my last word on the matter."

Nan laid down her needlework and started to make a rebuttal, but Claresta stayed her with a raised hand. "I should have told you, Mrs. Clover, that I gave Douglas the night off. I will see what the child wants."

The familiar aroma of beef broth, tangy spices, and fresh baked bread assailed Claresta’s nostrils as she entered the kitchen. Since childhood, she associated this area of the house with warmth and comfort. Mrs. Clover had been with the family almost as long as Nan. Claresta’s childhood shenanigans never produced more than a harsh reprimand from Nan. But afterwards, all teary-eyed, she would seek out Mrs. Clover for a liberal dose of gingerbread and an affectionate pat on the head.

Claresta smiled as she watched the robust cook stir the contents of the large pot extended over the open range. Cook never did catch on to her ruse. She opened the back door and peered out into the darkness.

The young beggar she found pacing impatiently along the rear portico stepped into the light drifting out from the doorway. Instead of the child Claresta expected, the urchin turned out to be a young girl of around fifteen or sixteen. What’s more, she was the young’un Claresta saw draped around Lord Norwood’s neck the first time she set eyes on the miscreant. She asked stiffly, "What is it you wish to speak to me about?"

The waif’s narrow, sharp chin shot up, and her deep-set, dark gaze settled on Claresta. "Came to see Lord Norwood, ma’am. Got somethin’ of his and thought he might part with a few shillin’ to get it back, if you get my meanin’. I reckon he ain’t here though, or himself bein’ a man of some honor and all, he would of come to me."

The girl’s words stung Claresta more than she wished. Was the man a bounder, as well as a gallows-bait wastrel? Even if she never set eyes on him again, she hoped the former was not true. Perhaps, he had told the truth about being fleeced. Come to think of it, she might have considered why a man would go into a tavern and order a meal without the funds to pay. Had her mind not been so set upon her own mission at the time, she may have taken this more sensible view of the situation. The girl must have stolen some trinket of Lockwood’s and thought it valuable enough to barter back to him.

"Lord Norwood is a friend of mine," Claresta said. "Perhaps if you tell me what you have to offer, I can deal in his stead."

"Don’t suppose that would be right, miss, not without his lordship’s permission and all."

Honor among thieves, Claresta thought. But she could see the girl obviously needed the money badly, for the poor wretch was a mess. There were at least a dozen frayed holes in her faded blue cape, and that was only in the side that Claresta could see. And the child’s feet must be near to freezing in those thin little slippers. Claresta invited the girl inside and was surprised when she refused.

"’Tis right kind of you, ma’am, but I got me brother to think of. ‘Course, should you see fit to spare a couple of blankets to keep ‘im warm for the night, I’d be right grateful."

The girl cast a look over her shoulder. Claresta peeked out the door and saw the small boy huddled in the shadows near the steps. The child was trembling so badly, she did not think it was caused only by the cold weather. "Is your brother ill?"

"Yes, miss, but we don’ aim to be no bother. I can fetch coal for the blankets, or sweep the--I say, ma’am, you ought not touch--"

It was too late for warnings, for Claresta having already rushed down the steps, pressed a hand to the boy’s brow.

"Why, he is burning with fever. The damp weather will give him his death for certain. You must come inside right this minute." Claresta wasn’t taking any argument and, as she led the boy up the steps, she censured the sister for not taking better care of the lad. "The blankets will give him little protection against the night’s dampness. The ague would worsen for sure."

"B-But, ma’am--"

She saw the girl’s cheeks go pale and added, "What the child needs is warm clothes and rest. There is a cozy room right next to the kitchen that no one uses. Mrs. Clover will brew up some of her willow bark tea. Why, we shall have the lad put to rights in no time . . ."

Claresta’s words trailed off when she removed the lad’s cap, and now in the light of the kitchen, saw the large red splotches on his face.

"Measles, ma’am. I tried to warn you," the girl said.

Nan, who stood close by taking the scene in, snorted. "Warnings are wasted on the likes of Miss Huntington, child. I daresay, me and her dear Papa warned her often enough about every rag-tag stray, grubby dog and mangy kitten she toted home as a child. Would she listen? No, no, not this one, not even when she gets herself bit by one of the mongrels. A grown woman should have more sense. Reckon she’ll not see the dawning until she’s bit and bled by every lickspittle what has a Banbury tale to recount. No offense lass, but I speak what I see."

Claresta, busy wiping the sick child’s brow with a damp cloth, patiently waited for Nan to wind down, then said, "Goodness, no one would accuse you of being afraid to speak your piece with honesty, Nan. At least, as you view it. But, in truth, there is naught for you to be fussing about in this instance. As you well know, I had the measles when I was but eight. There’s no danger to my person. Nor to yours, I daresay, since I remember you telling Papa you could stay by my bedside night and day because you had the same ailment as a child yourself. Now if you don’t have any other foibles from my past to weary our guests with, I implore you to make rooms ready for their stay."

"’Tis not just yourself I was worrying over," Nan sniffed effusively, "but the rest of the household."

Other than the stable hands, who rarely ventured inside, the rest of the household consisted of Claresta’s personal dresser, two housemaids, Douglas, Nan and Mrs. Clover. The latter stood nearby and recalled her experience with the spotted disease.

"’Twas sixteen meself when me whole family come down with ‘em, one by one. Nursed eight brothers and sisters through, I did." Mrs. Clover added to reassure the girl who looked pale as paper and stared wide-eyed at her, "All of ‘em still hail and hearty, too, they is."

"There, you have it," Claresta said to Nan. "And I see no reason the others cannot just stay away from the sick room until the boy is well."

"Gor!" The girl shuddered as Nan left the room to do her mistress’s bidding, grumbling though she was. However, the straightforward opinions of the housekeeper she could understand. She turned to Miss Huntington and asked suspiciously, for she wasn’t used to being treated so generously without cost, "What is it you want from me, miss?"

"Want? Why, I want naught but for your brother to get well."

The girl saw the spark of fire in the lady’s eyes and realized she was sincerely offended. This was the second time in as many weeks that she and her brother had been treated decently by their betters without them expecting anything in return. "I don’ know what to say."

"Just say you’ll do no less than Mrs. Clover did for her siblings and care for your brother until he’s well."

"That I will." The girl, still awed, asked, "Are you from America, too, miss? Though I must say you don’ sound a bit drawlish like my lord. But ain’t never had no English nob do us a good turn afore."

Claresta bristled at the mention of the handsome colonial’s generosity, something she had no experience of. But it was a sad state of affairs that the English did not take better care of their own. "I’m a countrywoman bred and born."

"Well, I’ll pay you back, miss. We Farrell’s don’t take no charity."

Claresta wondered if unfortunates always gave willy-nilly promises. A certain gent made the same rash covenant and failed her. It wasn’t the money she was out that piqued her, however.

Instead of dwelling on her own problems Claresta chose to see to the youngsters’ immediate needs. After Nan announced the rooms were ready, Claresta ordered Cook to prepare a tray and bring it to the boy’s room. Then she introduced herself and the two servants and asked their Christian names.

"Junice and Charles, ma’am," the girl said. "Most folks just call us Juny and Charlie."

The boy swayed, and Claresta caught the child before he toppled forward. "Well, Juny, we should get your brother to bed."

In the sick room, Nan and Claresta helped to dress the small boy in a clean nightshirt borrowed from one of the younger stable hands. Lastly, after Nan removed the boy’s tattered boots and trousers and assisted him upon the bed, she gasped in shock.

Claresta was equally appalled when she saw the scars marring the child’s legs and feet and demanded to know, "How did this happen?"

The girl took a step back, a frightened look spread across her face. "Please do not call the magistrate, miss."

"The magistrate? Did someone do this deliberate?"

"Charlie was a ch-chimney sweep, ma’am. T-The man he was apprenticed to forced my brother to-to go down sometimes with the fires still banked."

Claresta closed her eyes for a moment to absorb what the girl’s words indicated. She had never believed the tales of small children being lowered into chimney’s that were oft times in use to clear away debris blocking the ventilation. She had a visual image of the boy’s lungs filling with smoke. Lamenting her ignorance, she felt something should be done to stop this sort of atrocity from happening in future.

"The magistrate should be called," she said.

"No! They’ll take him back. They’ll take him back and kill him this time." Juny began crying.

Nan and Claresta exchanged a glance, and the housekeeper placed her arm around the girl’s shoulders. "There, there, child. Miss Huntington would do naught to hurt the boy."

"Are you saying the authorities have made Charlie return to the same apprenticeship on previous occasions?" Claresta could not believe such incompetence.

Juny twisted out of the housekeeper’s embrace. "Don’ matter none who they give him to. They all be the same."

She swiped the tears from her cheeks and lifted her chin, then nudged her brother who’d already fallen to sleep and ordered him to get up and get dressed. Charlie looked as if he, too, may start crying.

Claresta placed a hand on the boy’s shoulders to stay him. "I promise I won’t summon the magistrate. But, my dear," she said kindly, "I’d like to know more about these people who would use children in such a despicable manner."

Juny could see no harm in that. She had witnessed the ladies of gentle birth come and go over the years, helping the poor just enough to flaunt their charitable good deeds. Miss Huntington might be sincere and believe she could right the wrongs done to the Town’s burgeoning poor, but Juny was not so naive. "I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know, miss."

If Juny’s voice sounded a little too condescending, Claresta chose to ignore it. For the first time in months her mind was directed on someone else’s problems. She could not give up her first objective, to save her grandfather’s company, of course, but it felt good to have something else to dwell upon for a change. She must do something to improve the plight of the orphaned children who were apprenticed out as climbing boys to such unconscionable tradesmen.

"Very good, then," Claresta said. "As soon as your brother is on the mend, I am certain Mrs. Clover could use some help in the kitchen."

If she did not give the girl a job, Claresta feared the pair would take flight as soon as Charlie was on the mend. When the girl seemed more pleased than appalled by the idea of working for her keep and thanked her profusely, Claresta knew she had made a wise decision.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning, Claresta received a message from Norwood Manor written by Lady Norwood. The Dowager informed her that Lord Norwood had taken ill.

I do not wish to cause you undue alarm, and the fever has finally broken, so I do believe he will recover. However, he may be confined for a while until he regains his vitality.

Lord Norwood has spoken glowingly of you, Miss Huntington, telling me of your hand in saving him from an indelicate situation. Since he’s had so little time to form any other new acquaintances, I hoped you would like to extend your generosity and pay your sick friend a visit in the country.

The accommodations, I regret to say, will be a bit rustic, and the entertainment underdone for one used to the bustle of Town life. However, Lord Norwood’s valet--who mentioned his former position with your household--assures me that his former mistress is quite "Top of the Trees and wont to make do in improbable situations. So there you have it, the assurance that my audacity to impose upon you is not without reason.

Since the manor runs rather bare bones at present, I encourage you, Miss Huntington, to bring along any number of servants or escorts to see to your comfort as I wish your stay at Norwood Manor to be as enjoyable as possible.

In closing, as if Claresta’s acceptance of the invitation had already been accepted, the dowager urged Miss Huntington to make haste and wished her a safe journey.

"Well, the pity," Nan chortled after Claresta finished reading her the contents of the letter. "There’s been talk that Lady Norwood’s been courting her dotage since the old earl passed. Thick as sponge pudding, she is, thinking you shall traipse off to the country to do her bidding."

"I’m going," Claresta stated as though Nan had not just informed her the invitation came from a member of the ton who’d clearly become incapacitated to such a degree as to overlook proper etiquette.

Nan recovered her less than servile tongue and insisted, "’Tis impossible. There is the sick orphan boy to see to, and then duties to arrange for his sister, not to mention the other matters that require my attention. Why the gardener would run tame if I did not oversee the spring planting, and the carpenter is coming to repair the terrace railing."

"I quite agree your duties are overwhelming, and you are much needed here."

"And you, too, my dear. However shall the business run without you?" Nan asked, knowing the gel’s duties at the company would prevent Claresta from making the uncivilized excursion more easily than her pointing out any improprieties such a venture entailed.

"You’re right, Nan. I must send for Edwin at once." Claresta snatched up a piece of stationary and rang for Douglas. She also sent a missive to Mr. Thurmond, for she must be fully prepared for acceptance of her proposal by Lord Norwood as soon as he was well again.

She no longer considered the man a clunch, for he must be very shrewd to have fooled the Dowager Norwood so easily. But then, Nan had said the old lady was in her dotage, so perhaps it had not been such a great accomplishment. Claresta decided to hold judgment until she could more readily evaluate the situation. But, at all events, she would ask him to cut line and tell the old lady the truth once the marriage contract was signed. Certainly there would be no need to carry on the farce then. It didn’t seem fair to take advantage of the old lady, Claresta thought, discounting the fact she intended to take advantage of Lockwood in a similar manner. The difference, she consoled herself, was Lockwood would receive fair compensation for his troubles, and no one would be left heartbroken as a result of her folly.

It would do little good to tell Nan not to go into a tizzy now, for she seemed already quite beside herself with worry. But, nothing she could say would dissuade Claresta from her singular determination to do as she thought best. It may be her last chance to save her inheritance

"The gentleman is ailing," Claresta said. "You know how easily Papa was to persuade when he became indisposed. And as Lady Norwood said, I am this Lord Norwood’s . . .’Tis hard to believe he’s convinced the widow of his claim, is it not? Anyway, he’s spoken highly of me to Lady Norwood and considers me to be his only friend. Can you not see the possibilities?"

"Aye, a deathbed wedding," the housekeeper said sourly. "’Tis what every young lady dreams about."

Claresta cringed. The thought of a dying husband did not sit well with her. The light perishing from Lockwood’s vibrant blue eyes discomfited her greatly. Lifting a hand to her face and shaking her head, she said, "Do not speak so harshly, Nan. Lady Norwood said the fever had passed. I’m sure the gentleman will recover quickly and appreciate my concern."

Douglas scratched at the library door and entered. "Oim tae run an errand for ye, Miss?"

"Yes," Claresta said. She scribbled two notes, one to Edwin and another to Mr. Thurmond, then folded them and hurriedly handed them over without bothering with a wax seal. After she instructed Douglas to deliver them at once, he left, giving Nan another opportunity to rant against the trip.

Once Nan saw there was little she could do to change Claresta’s mind, she offered to make the trip in spite of her pressing duties. Claresta would hear none of it, insisting that her dresser, two maids, a groomsman, the coachman, and the footman, Douglas, would be escort aplenty. Eventually, Nan resigned herself to give up and see to the packing

Presently Edwin arrived, but he was not alone. His mother accompanied him. While Lady Westhaven gave over her coat to the downstairs maid who answered the door in Douglas’ place--for he’d not returned from delivering the other billet to Mr. Thurmond--Edwin rushed forward to kiss his cousin’s cheek.

She whispered, "Edwin, how could you?"

"You should not send an unsealed message to Huntington Hall, my dear, if you do not wish Mother to scan it’s content."

"The nerve," Claresta said, then smiled tightly when her aunt approached her.

"I do declare, Claresta, you are the only one who can distract Edwin from his duties. He scoffs even at my simple requests to take time from family business to attend me for a simple turn in the park at the fashionable hour. But then, I suppose one only has to reflect on the prosperity of Gilbert and Huntington since his involvement to appreciate his efforts."

Aunt Ester was a sturdy woman with very little gray in her hair to show her age. Considering her stature and tyrannical nature, it was hard to believe the naiveté the woman exhibited at times. She never credited Claresta with the success of Gilbert and Huntington. Lady Westhaven had convinced herself that Edwin, although she would prefer he not, directed--she so used this term when explaining his position to others--the affairs of the company single-handedly. She often chastised Claresta for her frequent visits to the warehouse and her silly little habit of getting involved in matters that should not concern her.

Claresta ordered the maid to bring in tea and sweetbreads and they sat down. She was glad Nan had gone off to pack her things and wouldn’t be present to hear the bracing lecture about to be repeated by Lady Westhaven. To defend her actions with both loquacious women at once would be enough to put Claresta in a flat despair. Taking a dusting from one at a time, she thought, she could handle admirably but together . . . she shivered. She explained her plans to leave for Norfolk with as little detail as possible.

"My poor, dear child, whatever has put it in your head to take to the country when the Season is almost upon us? Why Lady Morley is giving her famous pre-season ball in less than a fortnight."

Claresta saw little need to mention not receiving an invitation to this prestigious event, nor did she think it prudent to state her true purpose of going to Norfolk. However, her aunt, although she might not approve, would not think anything amiss if Claresta’s trip were a business venture. "Well, I should think Edwin would know the reason for my going."

When Edwin looked at Claresta quite baffled, she prompted, "You remember, the auction at King’s Lynn."

"Ahh, the auction, yes indeed." Edwin said, remembering the handbill regarding the unclaimed warehouse goods that were up for grabs. He did not give Claresta the support she’d hoped for, however. "That isn’t until next month."

"’Tis the truth," Claresta said, thinking quickly. "I knew you would want to know the worth of the merchandise before you waste a trip there yourself to place a bid."

"Oh dear," Aunt Ester trilled, laughing lightly, "whatever do you know of such things?"

"The merchandise, my dear lady, is something only a woman can evaluate for true worth, for I’m to understand the bulk of the wares are bolts and bolts of every nature of cloth to be imagined.

"Cloth?" Lady Westhaven’s interest quickened.

"Silks, cambrics, muslins, sarcenets and lace, yards and yards of lace," Claresta said, knowing her Aunt’s great weakness for fripperies and frou-frous.

"Oh dear," Lady Westhaven spoke reverently for nothing enticed her more than fashionable finery. "Why I do say, that should be quite exciting. And, of course, one could not say your interest is anything more than a passing fancy to make a bargain for a fine selection of dress material. Why, many times your dear father accompanied me to the warehouse to pick out the best silks for a ball gown."

After a moment of contemplation, Lady Westhaven added, "But, my dear, you cannot mean to go un-chaperoned? I know you consider that housekeeper to be some sort of a companion, but she seems a bit unaware of how to go on in Society, if you take my meaning."

Claresta wanted to defend Nan, but then she’d have to admit the lady was not going with her and that would never do. "You fret entirely too much about such things, Aunt Ester."

"But it all seems so improper, don’t you know. And where do you intend to stay? I’ve heard the inns in the area are quite atrocious."

"I shall do quite well in that quarter, Aunt, for I’ve been invited to visit a sick friend near Holkham."

"Well . . . well even so, you shall have to stopover at an inn along the way, and there could be any manner of riffraff frequenting the roads, making them unsafe for decent folk. Oh dear, it would never do for you to go with barely any suitable chaperonage and so unprotected. I see nothing for it," she stated quite emphatically, "but I shall have to go with you."

Claresta gasped and looked beseechingly at Edwin. In this instance, she did not get any sympathy from her best friend. "Mother is right. You cannot think of making this trip without an entourage of some sort."

"Reggie will go with us, too."

To this declaration, both Edwin and Claresta looked aghast. Edwin was the first to regain his tongue. "You are forgetting Lady Morley’s ball, Mother. She will be sorely offended if neither you or Reggie show up, and I dare say, Reggie would be much put out if he had to miss it."

"Nonsense, the affair is such a squeeze our absence will hardly be noticed. But, just so, I will send Lady Morley a note begging her pardon. I believe you mentioned a sick friend, did you not? What better reason for sending our regrets?"

There was no gainsaying her aunt. In some cases Ester could be even more stubborn than her niece. Claresta groaned inwardly but could see no way to reject the offer out of hand. Reggie would be certain to try and sabotage her mission, but she would figure out some way to handle him before they arrived at Norwood Manor. She reminded herself to take along her father’s dueling pistols. After a lingering reluctance, she finally gave in to her aunt, and the lady took charge of making the travel plans.

"Then I shall run along, my dear. I must locate Reginald and solicit his help to hire outriders for warding off bandits."

Claresta almost groaned as the door closed behind the woman. "This is all your fault," she berated Edwin.

"Perhaps," Edwin said seriously. "But you cannot deny the folly of making such a trip without proper escort."

She lifted a brow. "You knew then that Nan was not going with me."

"A matter she instructed Douglas to make me aware of, I believe. You may as well face it, Claresta. In varying ways, we all have concern for your welfare."

"How tactfully put, Edwin." Claresta understood Edwin’s anxiety for her well-being but knew all too well to suspect his mother and brother’s affectations of similar interest. "But, I suppose, it is a burden I must endure."

"Sometimes, Claresta, one must accept the inevitable."

She lifted a brow. She decided not ask him to expand on that statement. It would be disheartening to discover that Edwin, too, was turning against her.

Instead, she gave Edwin private instruction about running the business during her absence. Shortly after he departed, Mr. Thurmond arrived.

The solicitor apologized for not having Claresta’s document ready but promised faithfully to have that article delivered into her hands at Norwood Manor before week’s end. If all went well, she would soon be engaged to Drake Lockwood. The intense shiver of anticipation that raked Claresta’s spine, surprised her. She shrugged it off as nothing more than exhilaration from knowing she’d located the man in time to satisfy her father’s decree.

* * *

The following morning Reggie and his mother pulled up in their landau to collect Claresta. Or rather to be collected. For comfort sake, they opted to ride in Claresta’s well-sprung Town coach.

Nan waved them good-bye from the front portico, and Douglas wore a happy grin as he boarded the landau with her shy young maid, Lizette. Claresta heard a giggle come from the other vehicle and wondered if she could use the excuse of separating the pair as a reason to ride in the Landau and escape Reggie’s simmering gaze.

He apparently had not given up on his chances at the inheritance and must have some idea as to the true cause for this venture to Holkam. As the day wore on, Aunt Ester prattled on as if her son’s mocking glare was not being returned with a seething look from her niece.

"Oh dear, oh dear, it is abominably warm for this time or year, don’t you think?" Lady Westhaven flapped open her fan and waved it profusely in front of her face, giving Claresta the benefit of the overdraft.

"Shall I have Reggie open the window, Aunt Ester?"

"No, no, the dust would be atrocious. Oh, I do hope your friend has a garden, for I shall miss my evening turn about the one at Westhaven Hall with Reggie. I dare say, Reggie does enjoy taking the evening air, don’t you, love? I’m truly sorry you had to miss the Morley ball, dear."

"Do not fret, Mother, for I’m sure there will be many distractions for us at his lordship’s residence," he said with a slight sneer.

Claresta did not miss the sarcasm in Reggie’s words and felt compelled to defend her intended. "Lord Norwood is a gracious gentleman, and I’m sure if he were well, he would never leave us to a dull moment."

"Dear, dear," Lady Westhaven intervened. "I did not realize . . . Lord Norwood is your sick friend?"

Reggie ignored his mother and said acidly to Claresta, "Knowing you as I do, cousin, I’m sure you will not leave us to a dull moment."

"Nor you to a lively one, I’d wager," Claresta said blandly.

"Oh dear." Lady Westhaven fanned herself rapidly. "I do think we should pull into the next inn-yard for refreshment. This constant confinement is causing you to sound cross as a cat, my dear."

Claresta wondered why Aunt Ester didn’t detect the same surliness in her son’s remarks but decided she’d better hold her tongue the rest of the trip, or they should be stopping at every hostelry between London and Norwood Manor.

The rest of the day was uneventful, with Lady Westhaven carrying on a running commentary on the landscape and complaining of the heat. They stopped at various inns along the way so she could refresh herself, and, as Claresta anticipated, they had to take rooms for the night earlier in the day than she had wished.

Once her aunt retired for the evening from their private parlor, Claresta decided it was time to speak a warning to Reggie about his unbridled remarks. If he cut up her peace in front of Lockwood as he had the viscount at Vauxhall she did not know how things would turn out. "I hope, Reggie, when we reach Norwood Manor you will harness your bent for stirring the pot."

"Tsk, tsk. Is it my fault that you tend to fly into a passion over the simplest jest?"

"I do not call it jesting when you make light of the misfortunes of others," Claresta riposted.

"I dare say, you’re probably right, Calam--Claresta." At this deliberate slip, he snickered. "Perhaps it would be more interesting to discuss the latest entry in White’s betting book. Would you like to lay a pony on the outcome of your marital possibilities, my dear? Right now, the odds are running out of favor for your success."

"Stuff!" For the first time, Claresta was appalled by the extremes the ton would go to for the sake of entertainment. "Don’t say your friends have nothing better to do than make wagers on such."

"I fear the ruckus you created at Vauxhall made it the most interesting wager of the year. Such vocal remonstrations carried on in public, Claresta." He shook his head. "What would you expect? Besides, a gentleman will make wager on just about anything."

"You should be quite an authority on that subject, I would imagine." Claresta threw down her napkin and stood. "Tell me, Reggie, did you put down your last groat that I would not make a match in time?"

"Of course not," Reggie said. Truth was he didn’t have a groat to put down until quarter day. But it couldn’t hurt to do it up brown and perhaps gain a little approval from her. Maybe it would change her unworthy opinion of him. "I may lay a pony on a cloudy day for the time the first raindrop will fall. Or, drop a quid on how many hours a candle will burn before wax cascades down its side. But I would never participate in a gamble that, no matter the result, puts a blight on my family’s good name."

At first, Claresta stared at Reggie in silence. He expected she was bowled over by his family loyalty. He waited for a compliment, but instead she quietly said, "What a pretty speech, Reggie. I wonder how long you could hold out from placing any wagers, if you set your mind to it."

The thought practically terrified him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I’m saying that quarter day comes ‘round soon. "'Twould be a shame if you should go lacking for blunt to game with."

"What can you be saying, Claresta?" Reggie’s breathing became rapid, and he could feel the beads of moisture pop out on his forehead. He’d done all right at Castle’s card party, but he’d turned his winnings and then some to a heavy wager on a bang up piece of flesh that had turned surly from the get-go. It was the jockey’s fault. The devil blood had fire in his eyes and the spirit of a true racer, but his rider lacked the courage to give him his head. Reggie had placed the wager with a disagreeable fellow with an even surlier disposition than the horse but had somehow persuaded the gent to wait for next quarter day to cover his bet. He tried not to even think about the blunt he owed Baines and his mentor.

Without his allotment, he’d be in a worse pickle than he was with Baines. And, too, he’d had every intention of recovering the sapphire stickpin from the cent-per-cent man on Clarges and discretely returning it along with the other contents of the jewelry case to his cousin’s parlor. But things did not look promising on that account, now. And mayhap, he would have to hock more of her father’s jewelry to pull him out of the River Tick for a time.

"If you so much as breath a word," Claresta said quietly, "of the dishonorable wager on the betting books of the men’s clubs, or, spread about any other tales that place me in a less than favorable light with Lady Norwood and Drake Lockwood, I shall see that you never receive so much as another shilling from my father’s estate."

Reggie felt a warm flush suffuse his face. His cousin was forever treating him like a disobedient child. But he remembered, this time, he could give her tit for tat. Maybe he’d even get in the last say for a change. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dampness from his brow.

"You best go lightly, Claresta. In another couple of months, I’m likely to be the one making the decisions on whose allowances to cut." Reggie was so pleased with himself he started laughing and couldn’t stop.

"Only over my dead body!" Claresta flared. She whirled about, knocking a tankard of ale over onto Reggie’s lap. Then, she left the room slamming the door closed behind her.

Reggie quit laughing. The vivid memory that popped in his mind of finding his father hung from the rafters overshadowed the discomfort of wet breeches. He rushed to the door, yanked it open, and every patron in the main room turned to stare.

He watched Claresta’s proud, retreating figure. As she reached the top of the stairwell she turned, smiled and waved goodnight as if they’d never had a row.

He was tempted to get in that last word he’d hoped for, but not wanting to draw more attention from the rowdies sitting in the taproom, he was forced to hold his tongue. He mumbled angrily, "Dash it! She done it again."

CHAPTER NINE

Drake’s eyes slit open when he heard Lady Norwood, puffing tiredly, enter the sick room carrying a foul smelling tisane. He recalled on one of her earlier trips that morning she’d mentioned making up one of her concoctions. He thought of pretending he was still asleep, but since the lady had gone to such trouble, he slid upright in the bed and said, "You should have sent Shipley up with that draught. It is too much for you to be climbing the stairs back and forth all day."

"I am not an invalid yet, so don’t try to make me seem one, sir." The dowager crossed the room, carefully balancing the potion on a silver tray.

"I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean--"

"Pooh! You are no fun a’tall, young man, always receiving my cantankerous rambling with such tolerance, and you in such a fix yourself. Well, I shall not taunt you so again, I promise. Leastwise," she smiled, "not until you’re well again."

"You are too kind and make me eagerly anticipate my recovery," Drake said teasingly. "But, as I said, I don’t wish you to trouble yourself fetching and carrying for me while I’m about it. I must have been sleeping for quite awhile, otherwise I’m certain Shipley would be hovering nearby to attend to such matters."

Lady Norwood eased the tray onto the bedside table and flexed her cramped fingers. "If you must know, Shipley has gone to King’s Lynn to fetch Doctor Adams and also to find a carpenter to patch the roof over the west wing."

Drake wondered why the dowager was dipping into her limited funds to make repairs that had gone unattended for months now. It would be ill mannered of him to ask. He frowned. "I wish you had not done so, ma’am. Sent for the doctor, I mean. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days. And I can understand your wish to see the hole on the roof repaired, but we can well keep the west wing shut off for the time being. If you would just be patient a while longer, until I’m feeling a little more myself--"

"Hush now. I would have sent for the physician sooner, only I knew Dr. Adams was off to London conferring with other young upstarts like himself on some newfangled medical treatment or other. Studied in Edinburgh, you know. But he is somewhat competent, even if I don’t always agree with his prescribed regimens. Comes from a long line of medical practitioners, he does. ‘Tisn’t like in his father’s day, though, when one could expect a good bleeding or purging and go on about one’s business. Oh well, I heard young Adams just returned and felt he should take a look at you. At least the fellow knows the difference between a simple ague and a contagious disease."

He found it strange she did not mention the repairs again. In a surly mood, Drake said, "I should think, at this stage, it’s a bit late to be concerned whether I’ve something catching or not?"

"Perhaps . . ." She bit her lip as if deciding on something. "I suppose I should have mentioned it earlier, but with the manor not up to snuff and all, I feared causing you undue stress. Of course, if the lady is the tolerant sort, which I doubt, or the persistent sort, which I believe, then chances are Miss Huntington’s arrival will be an invigorating tonic for us all."

"Miss Huntington!"

"If you do not quit your fretting, sir, your fever will return. Here take this. Tsk, tsk, hush now," she said, when Drake rose up in bed and again started to speak.

She shoved the tisane beneath his lips, and he had no choice but to take hold of the bottom of the cup and drink. "There now," she said, "that’s a good lad. I know well and good you meant to take measures to patch up the leak. But you have worn yourself out working and worrying over making the tenant’s houses more livable. I’m just grateful you braced up that pillar at the main entrance. "‘Twas a disaster waiting to happen."

"But, I don’t understand, my lady. You said you hardly knew Miss Huntington."

"Well, I decided I should like to get to know her, and what better reason to extend an invitation?"

Drake groaned. He knew the dowager had peculiar ideas about the way of doing things. Anyway, the deed was done now, and there was little he could do about it. He leveled a look at the dowager who stared at him with the innocence of a newborn babe. "When is Miss Huntington expected?"

She sighed and leaned back in the rocker she’d pulled closer to the bed last evening when she’d sat and read to Drake from Coke’s journals on land management. He had a hunger to know all about successful farming techniques for the area. He hoped he’d prove to be a better manager than the fool Denton had assigned to the task.

She must have been thinking the same for she said, "I should die of mortification if Percival were alive to see what’s come of his beloved home. He promised to see that I lived in grand style for the rest of my days, but alas, I don’t believe he foresaw the difficulty in locating his heir. Might have prevented the place from going to rack and ruin had he done so."

"We’ll take care of matters one at a time. Probably things aren’t as daunting as they appear. When Rutherford returns, maybe he can shed some light on the situation." He gave her a bracing smile. However, Drake feared the worst. It would likely take a fortune to bring Norwood Manor about.

"Too bad Rutherford’s mother took ill just after your arrival, and he had to go off to Yorkshire. Perhaps he will not hem and haw over your questions as the current bailiff, Mr. Conyers, does, and can give you some accounting as to why some of the fields have gone fallow for the past few years. ‘Tis a pitiful legacy you’ve inherited to be sure, but I do hope you don’t blame poor Percy for the lowly conditions."

"Never, my lady," Drake said, and noting the moisture that dampened the many creases surrounding the widow’s eyes, he rose up on his pillow and tried to once more reassure her. "There is nothing amiss with the manor or the fields that cannot be fixed. The tenants’ problems may take a bit longer than I’d hoped, seeing as some of the cottages need replacing completely, but in time that, too, shall be put to rights."

Drake realized suddenly that he was making a long-term commitment that he’d not been certain of when first arriving in England. He no longer thought of ridding himself of the properties and returning to America.

"You bolster my lagging spirits, Norwood."

"As you do mine, ma’am," Drake countered and meant it. Then thinking on all he had to do, he said, "I’d like to take a look at the ledgers as soon as possible and see what resources are immediately available. When Mr. Rutherford gets back, we will go over what needs to be done to the fields. Perhaps," he said more to himself than to Lady Norwood, "I’ll arrange a meeting with the tenants to discuss the problems."

He looked up and saw the troubled look on the lady’s face and recalled his intent to make her rest easy. In the few days he’d been here he’d come to know the dowager well. Although she showed concern for the tenants when he spoke of them, her disability had kept her from paying regular visits over the last few years, so, she could not realize the extent of what they suffered. She was likely more worried about her own circumstances, as was natural for a lady of refinement.

Drake knew his stepmother would be similarly distressed living under such lamentable conditions. "Once I can obtain proof of my identity, I shall secure enough funds to hire laborers to tend to the major repairs needed to the manor."

"I do not wish to put your hopes to flight, my lord, but I doubt there is a bank in all of England that would frank the amount of money needed to correct all the ills of Norwood Manor."

"Don’t worry, my lady. I’m sure something will turn up."

"Yes, indeed. I expect it shall happen quite soon."

Drake puzzled over the lady’s words, but he’d found that most women didn’t know nor have a desire to understand the least concept of finances.

"Burr!" The dowager shivered and drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. "This fusty old place cleaves with the dampness left by the night air without the fires lit. Coggins has let the one in your room go out again, I see. I must instruct him to have welcoming fires going in all the rooms before our guests arrive."

She stood to leave. "You must rest now. I shall hurry Coggins along to reset the fire in your grate, as well. Hopefully the doctor will arrive soon. Perhaps I can talk him into bleeding you to drain some of the poison out of your system."

"Tarnation," Drake mumbled and plopped back onto his pillow. He’d seen enough bloodletting when his father was ill to make him wary of the practice.

It wasn’t until after the dowager left the room that he realized how smoothly the dowager had steered him away from making further inquiry into Claresta Huntington’s visit.

* * *

It was near dusk the next evening when Claresta’s entourage finally arrived at Norwood Manor. But the dimness of light did little to hide the deplorable conditions of the winding driveway cluttered with weeds. Tree branches had not been kept properly trimmed, and the coachman had to weave the carriage in and out of the overhanging limbs. The outline of a hideous stone relict seemed to suddenly rise out of nowhere, probably because it blended well into the thick, chaotic growth of vines covering it’s outside walls.

"Oh dear," Lady Westhaven said, peering out into the growing darkness.

"Perhaps the coachman took a wrong turn," Reggie remarked with acidic disapproval.

"No," Claresta said, "I saw a sign at the turn. Lady Norwood warned me that Norwood Manor had been in a languishing state of late."

Claresta thought that an understatement. She noted one of the columns of the convex portico, in front of which the coachman pulled to a stop, was slanted at a precarious angle. It appeared to be temporarily shored with some freshly hewn, sturdy timbers, so she didn’t believe there was any danger of the parapet above tumbling down on Douglas’s head when he jumped down from the second coach and pounded on the tarnished lion-head knocker.

Eventually, a balding, elderly gentleman with a irritated expression yanked open the door. Adding to his look of insouciance, he wore baggy pantaloons and a partially un-tucked shirttail that flapped loosely against one leg. If he was the butler, his credentials were questionable, for he bellowed loudly, "’Ere now, what ye be wanting at this ‘our?"

In his typical Scottish burr, Douglas inquired for the lady of the house, to which the man cupped a horn-like gadget over his left ear and shouted, "What say?"

Claresta and the rest of her party alighted and stepped upon the crumbling steps. When Douglas got another similar response from the servant, Claresta moved forward, lifted the barrel end of the horn and spoke clearly and closely into the receptacle, making herself known to the man.

"Miss ‘untington? Oh yeh, ‘course, ‘course. Yer man got a speech impediment, do he? Come in, come in. Lady Norwood ‘spected ye to ‘rive yeste’day."

If Aunt Ester had not slept until noon, Claresta silently fumed, then bathed and breakfasted at her leisure before they returned to the road yesterday morning, they could have made better time. Then an afternoon rain had kept them to a crawl until they were forced to take respite at another posting inn.

If not for the delay, she’d have been happy for the chance to get away from the mother and son’s steady harping for a few hours. She had listened to Reggie--who came from his bed quite late himself--complain of a headache all the way to the next town where Aunt Ester insisted they stop for a remedy.

The concoction the innkeeper stirred up for him seemed to have done little good, for Reggie continued to split hairs with her from the outset. Claresta suspected his headache came more from aftereffects of the bottle of port she’d heard him bellow to the barmaid to bring him after she’d left him in the private parlor that first evening.

"We were unavoidably delayed," she explained to the butler.

"Waylaid, eh? Blasted ‘ighwaymen. Roads ‘ereabouts ain’t safe, no ‘tain’t

"Delayed, not waylaid, you cocklehead," Reggie blurted, obviously still feeling out of sorts.

"Took to yer bed? Well . . ." The man cocked his head to one side, leaned forward, and examined Reggie’s burnt orange waistcoat embroidered with green hummingbirds. He took a step back, lifted his gaze and said with an amused gleam in his eyes, "Reckon so, reckon so. Put a fright into you, did it, mate?"

"Oh dear," Lady Westhaven said. She snapped her fan open and began waving it vigorously in front of her face.

"Cull made off wid yer values, did he?" The butler scratched the few hairs standing out at odd angles atop his head. "Reckon ‘er ladyship will be a sendin’ me out to fetch the sheriff when she hears ‘bout it, she will."

"My God!" Reggie said, taking his mother’s arm as she swayed on her feet.

Claresta put her mouth to the horn and asked the man to direct them to a parlor where her aunt might rest. He took their coats as they removed them and tossed them haphazardly onto the chair in the foyer. This carelessness drew a gasp and another "Oh dear" from Lady Westhaven.

"A mite missish, ain’t she?" the servant said, making Claresta wonder if the old fellow was as hard of hearing as he made out.

With only one taper in his hand lighting their way, the man led them up the stairs and down a long corridor to the west side of the house. He opened the door to a room that had no fire in the grate. He lit the two candelabras on each end of the mantelpiece, and light invaded the recesses of the cavernous room. They got a good look at the careworn, possibly blue salon, and Lady Westhaven suffered another swoon.

"Oh dear."

"Here, Mother." Reggie solicitously led her to a damask sofa that had seen better days. As soon as the lady sat, she yelped and stood promptly, making Claresta wonder at her aunt’s unusually quick recovery.

"Good Lord," Reggie said when his mother turned around and lifted her skirts away from her backside. Claresta muffled a laugh when she spotted the large, round, wet spot that circled the seat portion of Lady Westhaven’s gown.

At that point the old servant hastily left saying, "I’ll fetch ‘er ladyship to ye."

Momentarily, Lady Norwood came into the room, apologizing profusely for her guests being placed in a section of the house that had been sealed off for restoration.

"I don’t know how Coggins could have made such a mistake," she said. Ushering her guests out of the ramshackle salon, they almost collided with a spherical woman of short stature.

"Oh, there you are, Mrs. Williams," Lady Norwood said. "We shall need tea and cakes. Oh no, that will never do. Ask Cook to prepare the leftovers from this evening’s dinner. There should be plenty since we anticipated Miss Huntington’s party beforehand. Bring the tray into the Green Salon, in the east wing, mind you."

"East wing. Yes, mum," the housekeeper left after giving them each a jaunty curtsy.

Claresta noted several moments of silence as Lady Norwood’s own lips twitched slightly. Then seeming to overcome her lapse, she moved them along toward the east wing. "Coggins received orders to take you into to the east, not west, wing upon your arrival. ‘Tis a puzzle, to be sure, how a retired sailor could have mixed up a somewhat basic nautical direction." She tsk, tsked. "More and more of late, the man has trouble following instructions. Poor fellow. Age gets the better of all of us eventually, I suppose," Lady Norwood said ruefully.

"’Tis not your fault," Lady Westhaven said, surprising Claresta with her sympathetic words, until her aunt scornfully added, "A soldier knows little outside the battlefield."

"I believe Lady Norwood said Coggins was a sailor," Claresta said, knowing her aunt meant her remark as another reprimand for retaining the bungling servant, Douglas, who’d served during the Napoleonic Wars.

"’Tis all the same, my dear, and the pity, so many of them rustics as well. I know how difficult it was to decently staff a country household. I’ve had plenty of experience with the lackadaisical nature of provincials."

Claresta knew her aunt took pride in referring to the years before Cedric’s terrible setback when she’d been mistress of a large country estate herself.

"I should think the discharged militiamen would have the good sense to go back to farming or weaving, or some such," Lady Westhaven went on to complain. "‘Tis a shame the way they are overcrowding the city looking for a handout at every turn."

"The shame," Claresta said, feeling the need to defend the men who’d bravely fought for England, "is the lack of honest jobs available to them so they can feed their families properly. The weaving machines have mostly taken away the necessity for inkle-weavers, leaving many without work to return to in their home counties. Which, I might add, is why they come to Town in such large numbers, hoping to find a way to support themselves and their families."

Reggie bristled. "For Heaven’s sake, Mother, do not get Claresta started about one of her pet charities."

Taking her son’s advice and turning to their hostess, Lady Westhaven said, "Perhaps I could recommend a good agency in London, Lady Norwood. Ofttimes city applicants are willing to relocate to the countryside."

"You are so kind," the dowager said, with a chord of indifference. She stepped aside as she opened the door to a much cozier, if somewhat well-used, green room. As she turned and looked at the fire going in the smutty grate, a look of pleasure lit her etched features. Claresta, too, found the warm glow added an inviting aura to the otherwise drab surroundings.

"Oh dear, oh dear." Lady Westhaven raked one white-gloved finger over a dusty table and shook her head sadly. "I shall make a list of agencies for you this very night."

Mrs. Williams brought in a tray laden with food, but Claresta ate little. Her thoughts had turned to Lady Norwood’s other guest who lay in the sick room above stairs somewhere. She wondered if he knew of her arrival. In most households servants passed along the news of guests but, thus far, she’d only seen two retainers. From the condition of things, she would guess that was about all employed here at the moment.

She suspected her theory correct, for after Reggie and Aunt Ester gorged themselves on the cold repast of ham, chicken and fruit, finished off with poppy seed cake, Lady Norwood instructed Mrs. Williams to show Lord Westhaven and his mother to their bedchambers, saying she would see to Claresta’s comfort herself.

The dowager slowly led the way up the stairs. Claresta followed her into a room that exuded strong odors of beeswax, attesting to a recently fastidious cleaning. Unlike the parlor they’d come from, not a speck of dust was to be found on the gilt furnishings that even time had not tarnished. The bed hangings were a different matter, showing some signs of wear in the varying shades of rose-pink colour. However, that did not detract from the room’s elegance.

"Why, it’s beautiful."

"Thank you, my dear. My husband employed a gifted carpenter from Yorkshire to build the furniture especially to my liking."

"Your own bedchamber? Really, Lady Norwood, it is much too generous of you. I simply cannot accept--"

"You can, and you will, and I’ll hear no more about it. Besides, I’ve long since moved to a room closer to the servants’ wing, since I often must call upon poor Mrs. Williams to prepare a cordial to soothe my aches."

Claresta had noticed the lady’s stooped posture and slow progress up the stairs and immediately guessed the cause. "Inflamed joints can be very painful. I was a mere child at the time, but I remember my grandfather waking the household during the night when he became too distressed with the gout."

"I pray I shall not inconvenience my guests by creating such a ruckus."

"Oh, I truly did not mean to infer that you would, ma’am. But I surely would understand if--I mean to say it would be no inconvenience on my account if you do."

Lady Norwood laughed. "My dear, I can see you are going to be just as much a balm to my lagging spirits of the past five years as the new earl. Well, I promise you I’ll try not to become so distraught that I’ll disturbed anyone but Mrs. Williams. And, I must tell you that since Lord Norwood has been administering to me with shoulder and hand massages, I have had less discomfort. The man has magical hands, my dear."

Claresta’s insides turned warm. She had envisioned several times in the last few weeks being touched by Drake Lockwood’s broad, masculine hands. Should they become married, it might become inevitable that he do so. Men could be such demanding creatures, Nan had often warned her. She realized that Lady Norwood did not seem to harbor any reservations about Drake Lockwood’s right to the Norwood title. "I do hope . . . er, Lord Norwood’s illness is not of a serious nature."

"Indeed, I think not. He did run an acute fever for a few nights, but he seems much improved now. When he sets eyes upon you, my dear, no doubt he’ll be up and about in no time a’tall."

"I’m most anxious to speak with him." Claresta hoped his illness didn’t run overlong, however she wouldn’t object to a bedside ceremony.

"Good. After breakfast, I shall take you on a tour of the gallery, then you can visit with him for a while." Lady Norwood smiled delicately, and a sparkle of amusement appeared in her clouded gray eyes. "I do wish you good luck, my dear."

After her puzzling words, the dowager summoned Lizette from the dressing room where she was putting away Claresta’s things. She instructed Claresta’s maid to see Mrs. Williams if there was anything her mistress needed. Then, as Lady Norwood was leaving the room a loud screech echoed along the hallway.

Claresta rushed forward in time to see a furry ball race toward Lady Norwood and make a leaping dive into her arms. At the end of the hallway stood Perkins, Reggie’s valet, with a look of frustration on his face. Reggie in his nightgown and cap, which showed signs of dishevel, pushed past Perkins, pointed at the shivering animal clutched to Lady Norwood’s breast, and screeched at the top of his lungs, "That--that, creature tried to bite me!"

Lady Norwood, anxious to calm the frightened animal, smoothed back the canine’s hair exposing two hugely round, dark eyes. She spoke to the dog as one speaks to babies. "There, there, Puggy. Do not be frightened, my precious."

"Frightened!" Reggie blurted. "He almost nipped off my--well, never mind. He could have done serious damage to my person had I not jumped out of the way in time."

Claresta heard a sound to her left, turned, and saw Shipley standing outside the bedroom next to hers. "Good evening, Miss Huntington. I trust you had a pleasant journey."

"Tolerable, Shipley. How does Mr. Lockwood fare this evening?"

"Sleeping restfully until the loud disturbance."

"Oh my," Lady Norwood said. "Do apologize to his lordship for me. And tell him the matter shall be resolved shortly. It is entirely my fault, I’m afraid. I should have made certain Coggins had removed Puggy before Lord Westhaven retired. The crimson bedchamber is his favorite, you know. I suppose the pagoda canopy of the bed reminds him of his home country."

"Good Lord," Reggie yelped. "You mean the bed I’m to lie in belongs to--to that creature?"

Shipley cleared his throat and said, "If you will excuse me, I shall inform his lordship ‘tis no cause for alarm."

Claresta nodded and Shipley disappeared back into the adjoining room, closing the door softly behind him.

"There is no harm done, Reggie," Claresta said. "So why don’t you just go back to bed?

"I doubt I shall get a wink with that . . ." he pointed at the animal in Lady Norwood’s arms, "that thing running tame over the premises."

"Yes, yes," Lady Norwood said with a slightly impatient tone. "I do apologize again, Lord Westhaven. I assure you Puggy is quite harmless." To disprove her statement, the miniature dog wriggled out of her arms and bounded back down the hall toward Reggie.

Lord Westhaven jumped behind Perkins. Lady Norwood called to the dog to heel, but Puggy paid no attention, barking and dancing wildly until the valet backed his master into the bedroom behind them.

After the door slammed in Puggy’s face, the animal sat and quietly cocked his head from one side to the other. Then he lay down as if taking up guard duty in front of Reggie’s room.

Claresta imagined how her chicken-hearted cousin would react if he awoke the next morning and found the dog lying in wait. She laughed. "Where in the world did you get such a lovable creature?"

"Lord Norwood, my husband Percy, that is, got him off a vessel just returned from China at Kings Lynn. Poor Puggy was a stowaway, and the captain would have dunked him into the Wash, had my soft-hearted husband not stepped in and saved him."

Claresta stooped down and patted the floor. "Come here, Puggy."

The dog was reluctant. Sliding on his belly, he crawled only a few inches toward her.

"Come here, my sweet."

The softly spoken endearment seemed to do the trick, for Puggy rose to his feet and trotted over to Claresta. She took him up in her arms. "There you go. Aren’t you a downy one," she said, holding the animal up to get a better look at him while scratching behind his ear.

"Give him to me and I’ll take him up to the servants’ quarters for the night," Lady Norwood said.

"Why not let him stay in my room tonight?"

"Oh my, are you quite certain, my dear? He has a habit of roaming about and getting into mischief when you least expect it."

The dog lapped at Claresta’s chin. "See, he likes me. Puggy and I are of like minds." She glanced toward her cousin’s closed door. "I do believe we shall get along famously."

* * *

There were a few things that Puggy and she would have to work out, Claresta thought, when she awoke the next morning and found the clothes that Lizette had laid out for her strewn across the room. The animal was nowhere in sight. Neither was her maid.

Claresta went into the dressing room to get another pair of stockings, for Puggy had made shreds of the ones on the floor in her room. As she stepped into the connecting chamber, she heard animated yapping coming from Lockwood’s room. She leaned her ear against the door and could make out Shipley’s voice, obviously grumbling about the pet. Then came a low chuckle that could be from none other than Drake Lockwood.

Suddenly the door she leaned against swung open, and Claresta fell forward. A multitude of things came into her line of vision, not the least of which was the near naked man on the bed grasping rapidly for the covers.

Puggy jumped out of Shipley’s arms, barked and danced excitedly around Claresta as if she’d flung herself upon the floor for some merry game.

Shipley, still clutching the doorknob, looked frozen in place. It was the first time she’d ever seen such a look of dismay on his usually stoical features.

"Good morning, Miss Huntington," Drake said. His calm manner helped somewhat to relieve her embarrassment. For several moments all Claresta could concentrate on was his exposed chest. She swallowed. It was the first time ever she’d seen a man that bare. She had a sudden wish to get closer and see if the silky sheen of his dark chest hair were merely an illusion. Would it feel like bristles on a boar or soft as Puggy’s coat?

Shipley came out of his stupor and helped her to rise. Lockwood stared at her below the chin, and she realized her wrapper was gapping at the neck. She hastily pulled it together. His eyes then roamed downward to her bare feet where Puggy nipped playfully, and her toes seemed to curl involuntarily.

"P-Puggy . . . I heard him bark and was afraid he might disturb your rest, sir." She gave Shipley an accusing glance, for if he’d not opened the door she would never have been discovered eavesdropping.

"On the contrary," Drake said. "The little fellow has a habit of scratching at my door first thing in the morning. I insisted Shipley let him in for his usual romp. We had hoped to slip him back into your room before you awoke."

The room was rather dim, but only total darkness could hide the brilliance of Lockwood’s blue eyes. They shone with such luster, she wondered if he was still feverish. Suddenly concerned, she walked boldly to his bedside and placed her hand upon his brow. "Ah, ha! Just as I thought, you are quite warm."

"That I am, Claresta. That I am." He seemed to be teasing her, but she could not be sure. He’d used her Christian name, and the husky sound of it coming from his lips sent goosebumps of pleasure up her arms. Flustered by her reaction to his warm skin, she took her hand away, straightened and turned to Shipley. "Bring his lordship some tea, preferably herbal if available. If not, then send someone into King’s Lynn for chamomile. It is said to be good for the ague, you know."

She glanced briefly at Drake, grazing over his chest with one quick sweep. The sheen was no illusion. She noted the radiant gleam in his eyes. Yes, he definitely was suffering from the ague, she thought. Remembering her mission, she decided to take his care into her own hands. She must get him well and soon. "Tell the cook to make him a light breakfast of--"

"Miss Huntington!" Shipley gave her bare feet and state of dress a disapproving look.

"Oh," she said. Perhaps she had been a bit overzealous. Puggy now lay upon the covers with his head resting on Drake’s thigh. Careful not to touch that muscular outline, she picked up the dog and backed toward the dressing room door. Before closing it, she said, "You should not overtax yourself, sir. I shall come back later."

"A visit that I truly look forward to, Miss Huntington."

The magnificent curl of his lips left deep dimples on either side of his chiseled face, which appeared to be blotchy in spots. The distinct signs of fever, she thought. Yet, he showed no signs of shivering or delirium, which usually accompanied the ague.

He smiled and something flip-flopped inside her chest. She quickly closed the door to keep him from seeing the glow of searing heat that saturated her own cheeks.

Turning her back against the dressing room door, she sighed. Her body felt strange, foreign to her all of a sudden. She was grateful Drake Lockwood seemed to have no aversions to her company. Quite the opposite in fact. If she wasn’t mistaken, he’d actually been flirting with her.

Puggy squirmed in her arms, and she realized she’d been squeezing him. As she stooped to set the dog on the floor, she congratulated herself on making a such a workable choice for a husband.

Then, her confidence was shaken when she overheard Drake loudly exclaim, "Damnation, Shipley, don’t you dare allow her into my bedchamber again!"

CHAPTER TEN

The dowager found Claresta in the library later that morning thumbing over the dusty tomes lining the shelves from floor to ceiling. Her ladyship wasn’t much of a literary devotee herself, but the late earl had collected books as often as he replaced sheep in the upper grazing lands. Other than removing the agriculture journals she’d picked out to read to the new Lord Norwood during his illness, and a rare dusting by the housekeeper, the room hadn’t been disturbed much in the past five years.

Claresta was examining an edition of the Life of Samuel Johnson, by the great biographer James Boswell. Hearing someone enter the room, she turned and greeted Lady Norwood.

"Good morning, my lady. I hope you don’t mind my taking the liberty of inspecting your well-stocked library." Claresta shoved the book back into its slot, and her white sleeve came away with a dark smudge.

"Oh dear," cried the dowager. She removed a lace handkerchief from her waistband and hurriedly crossed the room.

"It is nothing," Claresta protested when the lady began brushing away the dust.

"I shall instruct Mrs. Williams to give this room a good cleaning. Though, when the poor housekeeper will find the time, I do not know."

"That is something I wished to discuss with you, my lady."

The dowager gave a defeated sigh and apologized again. "I suppose I should have been more explicit when I mentioned in my letter not to expect things to be in top order."

"No, no, think nothing of it," Claresta said. "You could not have anticipated the extra guests or that I’d wish to explore the unused sections of the manor. Which, by the bye, are quite extraordinary. The thing of it is, my aunt and cousin have always lived a rather comfortable existence. Providing extra staff to make their stay more pleasant should be my responsibility, but not without your approval, of course. I must make a trip into King’s Lynn on another matter and request your permission to hire additional servants to assist Mrs. Williams and Coggins during our stay."

Claresta had been in awe of the tremendous burden placed upon the only two servants she’d seen so far at the manor.

"Naturally, I will pay for their services," she added.

Lady Norwood’s eyes twinkled. "My dear, I understand perfectly. Oh, do tell me, shall you ask him soon? Shipley would not allow me past the portal of the sick room this morning. I do not know what he spoke of, but he said I should tell you to pay no heed if you overheard his lordship’s loud outburst this morning. I’m certain it must have been brought on by a sudden episode of amour propre."

Claresta had realized almost immediately Drake was a proud man. How could she expect him to react to such an embarrassing situation any differently? But, after hearing his loud mandate, she’d begun to fear that her chances of presenting him with her proposition any time soon were remote. And, she’d also begun to doubt his acceptance of such, if he had found her presence so objectionable. She remembered his high color and heated brow and worriedly asked, "Pray, Dra--Lord Norwood has not taken a turn for the worse, my lady?"

"Nothing of the sort. I sent for the doctor yesterday, but he only arrived a short time ago and went up to him. After his visit to the sickroom, Doctor Adams informed me that the worst is over. The rash often breaks out after the fever subsides."

"Rash?"

"Measles, my dear. It seems our dear fellow is afflicted with a childhood ailment."

Claresta laughed along with the dowager. However, she gave thanks for Drake’s healthy constitution, for she knew adults often succumbed during the extreme stages of the disease. She wondered how the sick orphan boy fared since her departure from London, but knew Charlie was in the best of care with his sister, Nan, and Cook looking after him. "It seems the disease has run a course in Town of late."

"I heard as much from a neighbor who fled to the country recently to spare her fragile daughter from being exposed. Now, my dear, I think it is time we had a talk. Come sit down."

Lady Norwood led Claresta to a sofa that apparently had seen little use during recent years, for it had not a sag or tear on it.

"There now," the dowager said and patted Claresta’s hand affectionately. "No need to be coy with me, for I do believe we shall get on nicely. And do not think I object to your proposal to increase the staff. Dear me, no. You should do with Norwood Manor as you desire, and goodness knows there is much to be done. No need to worry about butting heads with me on any turn, for I shall retire to the dower house as soon as the knot is tied."

"The knot?" Loose strawberry curls escaped Claresta’s cap when she shook her head, and she pressed her hands to her heated cheeks as understanding came over her. "Oh dear, it seems Shipley has become quite a gossipmonger."

"Not so much as you would think. Actually, it took quite a bit of prodding on my part--for you see I’ve heard just enough rumors while in London to cause me to make some assumptions. To pull the slightest confirmation from Shipley was quite an undertaking. And do not think, old fool that I am, that I believe any of what he acknowledged is merely gossip, not coming from that dedicated servant. Why, I do believe Shipley thinks the sun rises and sets with you, dear gel. So tell me the whole of it and do not try shamming me."

So Claresta, finding it easy to confide in the lady, gave her a short rendition of her situation. How she became involved in the family business, her father’s shocking decree, and how she came to be known as Calamity Claresta when a close relative of Sir Pedigrew’s blamed her for his demise. She explained that if Drake Lockwood accepted her offer of marriage it would greatly benefit the both of them.

Claresta would be willing to give Lord Norwood whatever he needed to improve his holdings. The dowager confessed the matter to be just as she had hoped. "It sounds like a splendid arrangement, my dear."

She told of the topsy-turvy tumble into Lord Norwood’s room earlier as a result of her eavesdropping. "I’m afraid my terrible lack of decorum may have turned him against me. I--I tend to become quite the blunderer at times."

"Don’t be silly, child. Take it from one who was married for many years, a man becomes cantankerous if caught in less than perfect physical condition by a beautiful lady." The dowager studied the blush on the young lady’s face and smiled. She noted the slight flicker of emotions in Miss Huntington’s eyes when she mentioned Lord Norwood. The dowager did not see anything wrong with a marriage of convenience, for it was quite common among the Quality. But she thought it much easier to endure when the pair involved had a liking for one another.

She admired the spunky Miss Huntington for her forthrightness and determination, but the girl was practical, as well, and the dowager detected a bit of skepticism when Miss Huntington called Lord Norwood by his title. Like Denton, the young lady seemed to harbor some doubt to the fellow’s heritage. "In your explorations this morning, Miss Huntington, have you by chance been to the gallery?"

"Not yet. I’d been exploring for only a short while when I happened upon this roomful of wonderful distractions." Claresta waved at the book-lined shelves. "I have been here for a good while admiring the varied collections of such writers as Voltaire, Nash and Fielding."

"I should have known you were a bluestocking," Lady Norwood said with only the least disdain. "Well, then, feel free to help yourself to anything that takes your fancy. As for the gallery, you must visit it before you see Lord Norwood again. But, for now, let’s go in to the breakfast room. Perhaps your aunt and cousin have come down by now, and I invited the good doctor to join us. He is probably at table already salivating over Coggins’ honey-oatmeal cakes. The housekeeper said you had looked into the dining room twice already to see if I were there. I’m a miserable hostess, I fear, to leave my guests to starve while waiting for me to talk these old bones of mine into moving about."

"Nothing of the kind, my lady. I was not that hungry before, anyway," Claresta said politely even though she, too, had salivated over the enticing scents coming from the kitchen. She had eaten very little of the repast laid before them the evening before.

Claresta’s stomach chose that moment to rumble, and Lady Norwood laughed heartily. "Now, my dear, I know you are shamming me."

When they reached the breakfast room, Claresta’s aunt and cousin were indeed down and, along with the doctor, were filling their plates from the dishes sitting on the breakfront. Doctor Adams was much younger than Claresta had expected. He had a high forehead and unfashionably long golden hair that he had tied at the back of his head with a leather thong.

She decided whatever Doctor Adams lacked in years of experience, he’d made up for by education. He’d been schooled in Edinburgh, attended medical seminars whenever he could and subscribed to every publication he could afford on new methods of patient care. He was so confident in himself that she believed him when he predicted that Drake would be completely recovered within a few days.

She found his quick wit and intelligent conversation enthralling and became especially interested when he gave them a summary of his trip to London where he conferred with some of the medical practitioners who Dr. Croft kept at bay during Princess Charlotte’s lying-in and final hours of life. "‘Twas an outrage, the way the poor princess suffered when there are methods that could have prevented such a tragedy."

Claresta thought of her mother also dying in childbirth. "Are you saying, sir, that the princess and her baby might have been saved?"

"Perhaps not both child and mother, but certainly one could have been spared, and the other’s suffering would most likely have been lessened by hours if not days." Claresta wanted to learn more about these new methods and wished to discuss the subject more thoroughly with Dr. Adams, but Lady Westhaven intervened.

"Claresta, such talk is not befitting an unwed young woman, nor is it fit conversation for the table."

"Your aunt is right," the dowager agreed. She pointedly directed her next remark toward Doctor Adams. "Your father would never speak of such matters in front of ladies at the dinner table or otherwise."

"Please forgive me, my lady," Doctor Adams said. "But as you know, my father and I held differing views on many subjects. I’m of the opinion that any lady thinking of entering the matrimonial state has a right to learn all there is to know about childbearing."

He cast an apologetic look at Claresta, and she smiled in return and said, "I quite agree, sir. But, rather than offend those who do not have such interests near at heart, perhaps you and I could have a private discussion on the matter sometime in the near future."

"Engaged to be married, are you? Then you’ll be wanting to know something about the conception, as well."

When Lady Westhaven gasped, the doctor laughed, which he did often. His jovial, forthright nature was another thing Claresta liked about the man.

Lately, she’d been thinking quite a lot about the conception process. She’d not had a mother to guide her, and the little Nan had imparted when she’d started her menses had sounded rather vulgar at the time. But lately she’d begun having forbidden thoughts of lying beneath Drake Lockwood in that vague position Nan had described. And, each time she did a fluid dampness began to seep into her pantalets. It was a very disturbing phenomenon that she’d rather like to discuss with a member of the medical profession. She’d also experienced this restlessness in her lower regions a few times, and after seeing Drake bared to the chest this morning it had flared up quite suddenly. Perhaps there was a remedy Dr. Adams could recommend for both conditions.

For the moment, she decided it best to put thoughts of intimacy with Drake out of her mind. She would be offering him a marriage of convenience, after all, and the subject of intimacy probably would not become a factor in their relationship.

To get her mind off such things, she concentrated on the overworked Mrs. Williams. The woman was making a gracious effort to keep up with Lady Westhaven’s demands--all coming at different intervals so several trips had to be made to and from the kitchen by the housekeeper.

Aunt Ester first demanded a less heavy syrup for the cakes, then a lighter brew of coffee, and finally--after she’d devoured several pieces already--a less fatty ham to be served.

Due to the speed with which the housekeeper kept up with these complaints, Claresta suspected the congenial servant merely watered down the syrup, watered down the coffee, and drained the excess grease from the already cooked ham after she’d taken them from Lady Westhaven’s sight. But her aunt seemed pleased by the results, and consequently, everyone was made happy.

Reggie had been nibbling at his food in relatively sullen silence, which Claresta found quite disconcerting. Her cousin was usually as loudly critical as his mother.

"You seem preoccupied this morning, Reggie. Bored already?"

Apparently he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity to voice his own complaints. His eating utensil thumped against his plate. "I tell you, I did not get a wink of sleep. I had the shivers all night. ‘Tis worse than sleeping in a dank mausoleum."

"Really, Reggie. When have you had such an experience to compare?" Claresta asked.

He gave his cousin a quelling look but his mother, oblivious to the testy exchange, commiserated over his discomfort. "Oh, my poor dear. Did the fire go out in your hearth, too?"

"Go out? Why, I daresay, if one has been lit in that particular grate in many a day, ‘tis no signs of it."

To this Lady Norwood sounded concerned, but not overly so. "I shall speak to Coggins. We certainly do not wish your stay to be uncomfortable, Lord Westhaven."

"When I did manage a doze," Reggie said, ignoring the dowager’s solicitude, "I had this awful nightmare about that pesky little animal nipping at my--" Reggie glanced up when the doctor guffawed loudly.

"So you’ve met the terror of Norwood Manor, have you? Can’t say as I blame you for being afraid of the little canine hoaxer. Had a few moments of anxiety myself when I first came here."

"Oh dear," Lady Westhaven said, fanning herself with her napkin, "there is a vicious animal on the premises?"

"Oh, ‘tis no need to be concerned, ma’am," the doctor assured her. "The little rascal kicks up a ballyhoo whenever a stranger comes around. But docile as a lamb, he is. That is, after one gets acquainted with the tiny fox."

"A fox," Lady Westhaven exclaimed.

"Merely a figure of speech, madam, because of his slyness, you see." The doctor patted his stomach and rose. "Well, must be on my way. Have to stop by the Childers’ place on my way back to Kings Lynn. Five brawny lads she has already, so she is hoping for a girl this time. Not that I can do anything to make it one or the other, mind you. Ladies," he bowed, then said to Claresta, "I shall be back this way in a few days to check on our patient, Miss Huntington. Perhaps we can find time for our private discussion then."

In spite of Lady Westhaven’s groan, Claresta said, "I look forward to it, sir."

"Well, lad," he turned to Lord Westhaven, "beware of the little terror. Shouldn’t want to be called back ‘round here to patch up any chewed off vitals, mind you."

The doctor roared with laughter on his way out, causing Reggie’s face to color up.

"Dr. Adams is teasing, of course. ‘Tis nothing to fear from Puggy, sir," the dowager assured him. "But, if he does become a problem, then just instruct Coggins to put him in the stables."

Claresta grinned broadly. "At least your stay will not be as dull as you predicted, Reggie. You can spend your time taming the wild beast."

Apparently, irritated by being the brunt of their jest, Reggie quickly changed the subject. "Are there no entertainments hereabouts, Lady Norwood?"

"Our nearest neighbor will likely be holding a soiree or musicale now that she and her daughter have returned from London. Lady Chelsworth--"

"Lady Chelsworth?" Claresta gasped.

Reggie dropped his utensil and laughed.

Lady Westhaven, continuing to fan her face with the napkin, sniffed her vinaigrette. "Oh dear, oh dear. Do you suppose she will call upon you, Lady Norwood? Whatever happens, Claresta," she admonished rather forcefully, "I expect you to conduct yourself in a manner befitting a lady."

A slow understanding came upon the dowager as she cast a bewildered glance from one of her guests to the other. "Oh my, I quite forgot Lady Chelsworth’s family name was Pedigrew."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Measles. Drake starred into the mirror at the red spots on his face.

Not only was he concerned that Miss Huntington’s presence in his room had exposed her to a contagious disease, but he was mortified to have contracted an illness that naturally afflicted the infirm or very young. And though he wasn’t usually a vain man, he took exception that Claresta had yet to see him at his most robust.

Thankfully, because Drake’s eyes had been sensitive to brightness during his illness, Shipley had kept the sickroom dimly lighted. If Miss Huntington had not gotten a clear look at the horrible red spots covering his face, he’d make certain that she never had another chance to do so. But the next few days of his self-induced isolation, with the exception of Shipley’s long-suffering presence, took on a drudging pace.

Drake could not forget how much he’d enjoyed spending time with Claresta in London. Very often he found himself smiling at some intriguing reflection.

Too, the memory of her graceless entrance when Shipley opened the connecting door to her rooms to return Puggy that first day after her arrival had him laughing aloud at the oddest times. He’d gotten a look at her small feet and well-turned ankles before she’d had the mind to cover them from his admiring gaze. But she had not immediately withdrawn from his presence as he’d expected. Instead her concern for his welfare seemed to have taken precedence over her modesty, and she’d marched across the room to check him for fever.

He wondered what she would have done if he’d carried through on the overwhelming impulse he’d felt to draw her hand to his lips and kiss it passionately when she’d laid it upon his forehead. The very thought caused him to have another mirthful outburst.

The valet cast a wary eye at Drake at these moments of light-mindedness. But if Shipley believed his lordship were a candidate for Bedlam, he did not comment. Rather, he went about his business in the same stoical manner he always did.

Drake knew Miss Huntington had remained on the premises, in spite of his lingering malady. He was anxious to be well so he could seek out her company again and apologize. As the hours and days passed, he kept a close vigil on the ugly red spots on his face. Too slowly, they began to fade.

* * *

On the final day of Drake’s recovery, Claresta made an unenjoyable but fruitful journey into King’s Lynn. Her aunt and cousin accompanied her and took exception to everything from the rough roads leading into town to the strong odor of fish that enveloped the majority of the seashore village they visited.

At the bankrupt warehouse, the numerous bolts of cloth, purchased at Claresta’s expense, captured her relative’s attention and curtailed their complaining for a short while.

Blue silks with various sarcenets for linings, rose taffetas, and colorful chintzes printed with bird and flower motifs were included among Aunt Ester’s selections.

Reggie had been particularly taken with a jonquil-yellow satin and a strange green bourrette with uneven nubs of a reddish tint. When packed up with the other purchases to be sent by mail coach to London, he included strict written instructions to his tailor to design something exquisite before his return. Claresta thought the outcome would more likely resemble a daisy springing from a blushing green stalk.

For herself, she picked out a pastel shade of blue silk. The color seemed a perfect complement to Lockwood’s eyes. Time permitting, she would have the material sewn into a lovely wedding gown.

If all went well, by this time next month she should be busy making arrangements for her wedding. She did not foresee having the time to return to King’s Lynn for the auction, nor could she spare Edwin for she would need him to attend Gilbert and Huntington business during that chaotic period.

She sized up the contents of the warehouse and decided to make a lump sum offer for a number of items including bolts of cloth, spices, and dried lavender, all of which had a promising resale value in London. The proprietor gratefully accepted her offer as he admitted being too indebted to afford transportation of the goods to a more lucrative location.

After making arrangements for the items to be shipped on the next merchant vessel to London, Claresta deposited her aunt and cousin at a local inn to rest before their return journey to Norwood Manor. Reggie was quite satisfied to nurse a tankard of ale while Claresta went about the task of staffing the estate.

The innkeeper recommended a likely agency to deal with the problem. Instead of taking a hackney, Claresta, accompanied by her maid, chose to walk the short distance.

It was her misfortune to nearly collide with Lady Chelsworth as she stepped out of the same building Claresta was about to enter.

"Mama--" Lady Emmeline said, lifting her chin and placing her hand on her mother’s arm to keep her from ramming into Claresta.

"Hurrumpf!" Lady Chelsworth lifted her eyes and her skirts and stepped around Claresta as if she might be tainted.

"Good day, madam. Lady Emmeline," Claresta said politely in spite of the hurt she felt from the obvious snub. She was surprised when Lady Emmeline acknowledged her greeting with a faint nod after her mother’s back was to her.

"Come along, Emmy," her mother ordered when she realized her daughter wasn’t following as quickly as she should.

"Femme stupide."

Claresta smiled at Lizzette’s critical whispered reference to Lady Chelsworth’s mental flaw. One thing about her servants, they were all very loyal. She hoped she’d be as lucky with the new ones she’d come to the agency to acquire.

Seated a moment later before a cluttered desk that reminded Claresta somewhat of her own, she soon put the Chelsworths out of her mind. The scarecrow-like agent in the seat across from her seemed to have more interest in the new Earl of Norwood than staffing the manor.

"I hear he is an American."

"With good breeding," Claresta said, in case the woman had misgivings about placing servants under his care.

But Miss Peerlace did not seem satisfied with that as she kept trying to extract more information about the new Earl of Norwood. This wouldn’t have been suspect had the agent’s interest been along the lines of what sort of employer the earl would be to the prospective servants.

"Handsome as a gallant knight, I hear," the long-backed spinster said. A smile tugged the corners of her thin lips upward.

Claresta thought the woman prettier than she’d thought. She didn’t like this tangent of conversation, however, and responded in a tedious voice, "Oh, are all gallant knights handsome?"

"Hmm. If not, they certainly should be, don’t you think?" The woman tittered.

Not thinking the question required an answer, Claresta remained silent.

Miss Peerlace recovered her somber expression and got down to business. She opened a book of record and ran her spindly finger along the page. "The cook and a footman might be difficult to find at this time of year. So many of them travel to London. ‘Tis much better wages there during the Season, you know."

"Perhaps then, you could recommend a scullery maid with some cooking skills." If Coggins had more free time, perhaps he could keep the fires going at the manor. Hopefully, Drake did not suffer from a icy chamber as she had these past few nights.

Miss Peerlace flipped to another page and repeated the finger down the page exercise. Her dark brows, a striking contrast against her colorless, elongated face, beetled together. "I’m terribly sorry, Miss Huntington. Perhaps, I can find a village girl willing to help out if the pay is sufficient."

The pay for the village girl or the agent? Claresta wondered. She felt certain it was the latter. "Whatever the going rate is, to be sure."

Miss Peerlace slapped her book closed. "I don’t mean to be ungracious, Miss Huntington. But is it not true that the Norwood estates are under the hatches, so to speak, and the new earl, with an identity which is also in question, has not a farthing to his name?"

So that was the rub, Claresta thought. She smiled tightly. "It’s astounding to know even the edge of civilization can be so current on Town gossip."

"The Morning Post is delivered by mail coach on a regular basis." Miss Peerlace said, and her long back seemed to stretch to an even greater length.

"How refreshing," Claresta said, trying to remain as amiable as possible, "that even the Morning Post is available this far afield. However, in this case, I fear the news is a little dated." Rather than the newspaper, she suspected Lady Chelsworth had been the rumormonger carrying this latest gossip to the agent’s ears.

She almost confirmed Claresta’s suspicions by saying, "I only know what I’ve heard, or read, that is."

Claresta clasped her hands tightly in her lap and strived for continued ennui in her tone. "The gentleman has been accepted by the dowager as the true heir, and I see no reason anyone should dispute her."

The agent gave her a condescending smile. "I do admire Lady Norwood, but you must realize that women, especially those not of the world, are often fooled by charlatans."

The spinster seemed to have a great deal of knowledge on this score, so Claresta decided to try a different tact. She wasn’t likely to fulfill her mission by antagonizing the woman. And being in Trade herself, she understood Miss Peerlace’s concerns. Many a businessperson had been left high and dry by titled gentlemen with pockets to let.

"Perhaps, Miss Peerlace, you have heard of a company called Gilbert and Huntington?"

"Why yes, I do believe it’s a very prosperous enterprise, one of the leading import company’s in the Metropolis--Oh my, and you--Miss Huntington. Oh my, well, I have certainly heard--well, that is . . ."

Claresta waited for the lady to settle down and quit twitching about in her seat. "As I said, it’s amazing how news reaches even the more remote hamlets of England. But, I assure you, Miss Peerlace, that although the earl," Claresta emphasized the title, "is a little distressed for funds at the moment, it is only for a short while. As far as his identity, if you had ever met the gentleman, I’m sure any doubt would be swept from your mind."

Claresta raised a hand when Miss Peerlace would have offered a rebuttal and added, "Of course, I realize that is neither here nor there as far as your concerns go. I believe your greatest anxiety is whether your clients will be assured recompense for services rendered to Norwood Manor. My family and I are imposing on the dowager’s and the earl’s generous hospitality for a short duration, and I feel it my responsibility to pay for any extra costs incurred to assure our comfort. If a letter of credit is needed--"

"Nothing of the sort," Miss Peerlace piped. Her long back hunched over the desk in study of the record book for several minutes then she said, "You know, Miss Huntington, I just remembered there is a family of immigrants by the name of LeClair, who live near Holkam. Three teenage girls and an older boy whom, I might add, did wonders for the gardens at Haverton. They’ve had a most difficult time of it since Lady Chelsworth turned them out."

"Lady Chelsworth?"

"I do not mean to speak ill of other clients, Miss Huntington, but Lady Chelsworth can be rather difficult to deal with, especially if she believes one of her family has been maligned."

Claresta had been the recipient of Lady Chelsworth’s bitter denunciations. Curious to learn of others the lady had disparaged, she asked, "Nothing serious, I suppose."

"Hmm. It would be very impertinent of me to repeat the tattle of servants. From their perspective things can become quite slanted, you know."

Claresta almost laughed, thinking it would take little urging on her part to get the woman to pass along any gossip she’d gleaned in the matter. "Miss Peerlace, if I’m to make an intelligent decision as to this family’s qualifications, I must know of the incident that caused them to be discharged from their previous employment."

"You are right, of course. Lady Chelsworth’s tale is, er, well, somewhat unimaginable. You would have to know the lady to understand she is easily excitable and possibly she made an erroneous judgment in this instance. She made quite a big to-do out of the gardener, young LeClair’s ‘incompetence,’ as she put it, in spite of the fact his work speaks admirably for itself. The daughter, Lady Emmeline . . . well, I cannot certify it to be the gospel, but the other servants seemed to think the girl may have been spending too much time admiring young LeClair’s work, if you take my meaning."

Claresta stood. "That quite decides it for me, Miss Peerlace. Notify the LeClairs we need them at Norwood Manor immediately."

Claresta warmed to the agent when a look of approval crossed the woman’s face. As she started to leave, Dr. Adams stepped into the one room office with a look of purpose in his features.

She realized Miss Peerlace was acquainted with the doctor, when the woman’s face turned ten shades of crimson, and she said in a brisk voice, "Dr. Adams, I do believe I asked that you make an appointment the next time you wished to see me."

"‘Tis not you I’ve come to see, Levina, but Miss Huntington." He turned to Claresta. "I heard you were in town, my dear, and thought I’d come escort you back to the inn."

Claresta glanced from the doctor to the agent. The familiarity with which the doctor had addressed Miss Peerlace had not escaped her. She could feel the tension crackling around the pair as they glared at one another. She hesitated before saying, "That is very kind of you, Dr. Adams, but--"

"Nonsense, Miss Huntington. Kindness has nothing to do with it. It shall be a pleasure to place myself in such amiable company for a change."

He looked pointedly at Miss Peerlace, then gazed down at Claresta with a gleam of adoration she decided must be purely for the other woman’s benefit, since the doctor had shown no such fondness previously. He finally drew a response from the agent when he added, "Perhaps we could have nuncheon together and resume the intimate discussion we embarked upon a few days ago."

Miss Peerlace sputtered. "You-you, sir, possess not a speck of sensibility for one who spends so much time seeking enlightenment. Now if you will excuse me, Miss Huntington, I have a previous engagement." With that she lifted her sharp chin and slender shoulders and marched out, leaving her office unattended.

"Oh my," Claresta said, jumping when the door slammed. "What did you do to make her so angry with you?"

"With Miss Peerlace, one never knows."

Claresta thought the doctor may have deliberately tried to incite the woman to jealousy by placing his attentions on her. She doubted he could have known of her visit to the agent’s office before he entered the room and saw her sitting there. "I do hope she won’t change her mind about sending out the servants I requested."

"There is little fear of that happening, Miss Huntington," Dr. Adams said. "Miss Peerlace has never given up an opportunity to make a guinea, thus far."

There was no mistaking the rueful tone in his voice or the spark of regret reflected in his eyes as he starred at the door the agent had recently exited.

As it turned out the doctor found he had no time for a simple repast or the discussion he’d promised Claresta, and she felt a trifle relieved considering the sullen mood he’d fallen into as he walked her back to the Inn. She hoped the urgent business he professed to have included finding the smitten woman and making amends for whatever transgressions he’d committed.

Claresta may never have experienced love, but she recognized it in others. She remembered well that same look of repressed passion when her mother and father were at odds with one another.

* * *

When Claresta and her party arrived back at Norwood Manor, Mrs. Williams seemed a bit discomposed. Aunt Ester and Reggie went immediately to their rooms to rest before changing for dinner, leaving Claresta to deal with the problem.

"Now what is the matter, Mrs. Williams?"

The woman wrung her hands and bobbed once again before answering, "Three more for dinner this evening, Miss. Reckon Coggins will fly into the boughs when I tell him."

"I assume Lord Norwood to be one of them?" Claresta wondered about the other two, but she figured Mrs. Williams would get around to telling her eventually.

"Yes, Miss. His lordship is quite recovered and eager to come below stairs. Would of been down earlier, excepting Mr. Rutherford came ‘round this morning--he used to be the bailiff, Miss, before the old earl passed on. Anyhow, Mr. Rutherford has been shut up with his lordship ever since. ‘Twould not surprise me none what the gentleman has a setback from all the computation and consultation what’s been going on in his rooms all the day long."

"I’m quite certain Lord Norwood knows his limits, Mrs. Williams." She was even more certain that Shipley would have found some way to get rid of Mr. Rutherford, had Drake’s interview with the former bailiff become too stressful. "You said there would be two guests, Mrs. Williams."

"A Mr. Thurmond," said the woman, shaking her head and twisting her hands together again. "Said he come all the way from London and would be staying with us a few days."

Claresta was happy her solicitor had finally arrived with the papers she needed, but she could guess the cause for the housekeeper’s agitation. "A family named LeClair should arrive by morning, Mrs. Williams, to help you and Coggins with the chores. "Assign the women duties as you see fit, but the young Mr. LeClair should be given the position of gardener."

"So kind of you, ma’am." The housekeeper bobbed, and the deep dimples once again appeared in her wide cheeks.

"Nonsense. And as for this evening, you have free rein to instruct my footman, Douglas, to help out as you see fit. But, after the LeClair’s get here, I will need Douglas. My groomsman took ill shortly before our departure from London and could not accompany me. Therefore, I’ll want my footman to act in his stead. I’d like to see a bit of the countryside during my stay." With Lord Norwood, Claresta thought, as soon as he was up to it.

Mrs. Williams informed her that Mr. Thurmond could be found in the library. "Not a speck of dust to be found there now, Miss," the housekeeper said proudly. She’d spent a good deal of time cleaning that particular room to the dowager’s satisfaction.

Claresta, quite anxious to speak to her solicitor before dinner, hurried to the library.

* * *

"You look a bit haggard, my gel." Thurmond said after greeting her with a light peck on the cheek.

"I am a little tired. We’ve just now returned from a trip into King’s Lynn."

"Hah! By we, I presume you mean your aunt and Lord Westhaven. With them two accompanying you, ‘tis no wonder you are so done in. Heard from Edwin how his brother invited himself along."

"You spoke to Edwin? How are things with him?"

"I suppose you mean the business, what? Edwin is going on quite well without you, I’d say. Good lad, that one. Should think about putting him as trustee on the settlement. No, no, don’t give me the cocked eye on this one. Guess you’d been thinking of asking your grandfather’s old friend to do the duty, what? ‘Twould be better, I say, to have a young’un like Edwin. He’d be looking after you a good long while after I stick my spoon in the wall."

"I’m sure that will be a long time off," Claresta said.

Forgetting his manners, Thurmond sank down onto the chair fronting the desk with a heavy sigh. Claresta eased into the chair beside him. "It is kind of you to consider what’s for my best interest, sir."

No doubt he’d expected her to object to his reasoning. Contraire to his thinking, she had not wished for Mr. Thurmond to act as her trustee for the business, knowing his capabilities had decreased and his attention grown lax over the last several years. The muck he’d made of things by overlooking Baines’ mismanagement had been ample proof of that.

Although, when she asked him to include the Equity In Trust agreement in the marriage settlement, she expected him to offer his services, so she was rather pleased by his quick dismissal of the idea. Whether sincere or not, he could not retract his statement of good-sense now.

The trust was the only way to keep the family business from being sold off or otherwise misused by an unknown entity. A woman and her personal items were chattel to her spouse to do with as he pleased, but under the Statute of Uses she could keep tangible property such as Huntington and Gilbert in trust for herself or her children. But she’d have to fill in the name of said trustee before the settlement was completed.

Edwin was the one person she knew would not abuse his position. If only she had another few months until he reached his majority. There was no telling what sort of manipulations Lord Westhaven would try against his brother until then. Claresta wanted to give it more thought before making such a lasting decision. She folded the papers and excused herself to retire to her rooms and dress for dinner.

* * *

Rutherford, the former bailiff, emphasized some of the estate problems as he’d explained them to Drake earlier.

"The old earl was closed minded to new ways, my lord. One third of the lands remain fallow under open-field farming. Without the major landowner’s consent for enclosure, there’s been nothing that could be done to correct this waste."

"The new ways have their drawbacks as well," Drake said. "I’ve been studying the lands of the villages hereabouts that enact the enclosure process, and I have found the small farmers have suffered greatly."

"Aye, that is so, my lord. Some of those using the common lands don’t hold formal title, anyway. But I can see no help for it, if you wish to make a boon of yer inheritance, that is."

"Perhaps. But happy tenants and neighbors makes for greater profits in the long haul," Drake said, then quickly made his decision. "We’ll petition for enclosure. I can see the sense of it. But we’ll not do anything at the expense of the small farmer, titled landowner or not. I don’t want anyone forced out simply because they cannot afford enclosure."

"Aye, sir, many have suffered just so since the old lord died." Mr. Rutherford scratched his head. He’d never known a titled gent to be so considerate of the lower classes. "Are you sure you want me to be reinstated as bailiff, my lord. Conyers won’t be too happy about that."

"You let me worry about Conyers. I may not have any legitimate say as yet, but Lady Norwood has as much, nay, more right, than Denton to hire an overseer to the estates. She’s made it quite clear to me that she rued the day Denton discharged you. She has given me leave to do as I see fit and, after talking to the tenants, I don’t see that Conyers is doing much in the way of bettering things."

"As you wish, sir. But I doubt you’ll get any of the other landowners around these parts to share the extra expense you’re bound to incur with these changes, my lord. Chelsworth is as bad as the late earl about clinging to the old ways."

"Then I’ll just have to figure out a way to convince him, won’t I?" Drake slapped his bailiff’s back good-naturedly and added, "For now, my good fellow, let’s go down and see what treats await us at the dinner table."

Drake knew he’d made another faux pas when the bailiff and Shipley exchanged a startled look.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"I had hoped you could stay long enough for us to discuss the immediate needs of the tenants," Drake said. Now that he was recovered, he wanted to get started on any repairs and such that he could accomplish by his own labor.

"Perhaps," Shipley intervened, "Mr. Rutherford would prefer taking his meal with the servants, my lord."

"Nonsense," Drake said. He had no desire to seem more the bumpkin than he already had to Miss Huntington, but neither was he a man to cowardly back down once he’d extended his hospitality. His grandfather always said, "Steadfastness gains the respect of an employee and promotes a lifetime of loyalty. The respect of one’s peers can be earned moment by moment and lost in that same length of time."

Drake cleared his throat. "I already informed the dowager you’d be joining our other guests. Only if you’re strongly adverse to the idea, will I not insist."

Had Lady Norwood turned into such a teaser? Rutherford wondered. But then he’d heard she’d become a bit dotty in her old age. The bailiff had shared victuals many times with the old earl when they became engrossed in estate business. However, he’d never done so with guests present. The dowager either found it quite amusing when the American insisted on a man of the lower class share the dinner table with his guests, or she was no longer accountable for her actions.

Either way, Rutherford thought it would be an entertaining anecdote to add to the grand news of his reinstatement as bailiff that he’d tell Mrs. Rutherford later. The dear woman had little enough entertainment of late, what with caring for seven children and making do with the barest of comforts her husband had been able to provide. Rutherford knew Denton expected to have seen the last of him when the solicitor had discharged him as the estate’s bailiff. But with the small patch of freehold property adjoining Norwood land, which Rutherford inherited from his brother, he had remained in the area and become an eyewitness to the increasing waste of good farmland due to Conyer’s negligence. The man often was too foxed to carry out his duties. And even sober, he lacked the skills necessary to run a large estate. When the tenants complained, Conyers blamed Rutherford for inciting them.

Last year, Denton had sent his man, Baines, to buy Rutherford out. When the former bailiff would have none of it, the florid fellow had called him a pastoral nitwit.

It would be quite the rub should Denton and Baines get wind of the former bailiff’s preferential treatment by the new lord. "If you’re a’mind to have me, your lordship, I should regard it as an honor to accept."

A few minutes later, they entered the drawing room where the others were waiting. Drake introduced the bailiff, and, as he’d feared, brows were raised.

Several "Oh dears" were spoken by the stout lady sitting on the sofa with the dowager, and a "What, say what?" erupted from Mr. Thurmond.

Drake overheard Claresta shush Lord Westhaven’s mumblings about the impertinence of those of today’s working class. But the dowager seemed unruffled by the entire affair.

"Mr. Rutherford." Lady Norwood lifted her hand as the fellow made a reverent bow before her. "How good it is to see you again."

"’Tis a great honor, your ladyship, to return to the manor house under such favorable circumstances."

An approving gleam appeared in the dowager’s eyes as she turned to Drake. "I knew you’d be sensible, my boy. You reinstated him, did you not?"

"I did.

"Splendid. We shall talk of it later."

"Mr. Rutherford," Claresta said and stepped forward to greet them. "Lord Norwood. You are looking very fine, sir." Her warm smile set to rest any misgivings Drake had about her distaste for his uncultured lapses.

"Miss Huntington. You are lovelier than ever, if indeed, that is possible." Drake lifted her fingers and enjoyed the feel of them against his lips a moment too long, he realized, when the stout lady harrumphed loudly. Although the woman towered over Claresta, he had not even noticed her move across the room to stand at the younger lady’s side.

When the woman made another disapproving sound, Claresta said, "Lord Norwood, may I present my aunt, Lady Westhaven."

He took the lady’s hand, extending her the same courtesy as he had Claresta, if with less enthusiasm. He remembered the night of Claresta’s diner party, the cousin had burst in to announce Lady Westhaven was unwell and calling for her niece. "From your glow of good health, it is plain to see you have recovered fully from your illness."

Reggie made a gurgling sound as he choked on his claret.

Claresta waited until Reggie caught his breath. "You met my cousin, I believe, the night you dined at Gilbert House."

Lord Westhaven wore a puckish saffron waistcoat and stripped small clothes in an indiscernible greenish shade. Drake had never seen neckwear knotted with such tight perfection. The pink shirt collars surrounding Westhaven’s cheeks gave his eyes an exceptionally florid glow. Or perhaps the high points had poked him in the eyeballs one too many times.

Westhaven’s handshake was briefly condescending and languid. Drake thought it impossible for him to become inured of the dandy’s nauseating apparel and boorish manners. Nonetheless, the gentleman was Claresta’s relative so Drake addressed him, if not sincerely, at least, politely. "Delighted you and your mother were able to accompany Miss Huntington on her visit."

"Well," Reggie coughed again. "She could not travel into the country without a chaperone, now could she? ‘Tis a good thing, too, I say, what with all manner of whoevers and whatnots welcome at table. Demmed rustic behavior, if you ask me."

"Reggie, your language," Lady Westhaven chided laughingly. "Do not allow an affront to let you forget your manners, dear."

"Sorry, Mother."

"It is Lord Norwood who deserves your apology, Reggie. Also, Mr. Rutherford."

Drake was surprised at the intensity in Claresta’s voice. He saw a gleam of amusement in Mr. Rutherford’s eyes and said, "What say you, Rutherford? Should we call the young man out for slander?"

Lord Westhaven’s ruddy face paled, and he drew back several paces.

At the same time, Claresta guided her swooning aunt to the couch, and the dowager fanned the lady vigorously with her hand.

For once, Reggie ignored his mother’s affectations of weakness, deciding he must make amends to Lord Norwood or he may be subjected to pistols at dawn. He never was a very good shot.

"I-I say, sir. I-I may have spoken out of turn, but I assure you no offense was intended. In your country the customs must be quite, er, different." He laughed uneasily and shrugged his padded shoulders. "As they say, when in Rome . . ."

"I say, Westhaven, don’t act the jackanapes. ‘Tis only the gentleman’s jest, what? Lord Norwood 'twould not be calling out his future in--"

"You remember, Mr. Thurmond, of course," Claresta intervened before her babbling solicitor said more than he should.

Douglas, who was helping to serve this evening, came in and announced dinner. Quite relieved for the interruption, Reggie rubbed his hands together and bellowed, "‘Tis blood--er, about time. I’m famished. Come, Mother, a good meal shall improve your delicate condition."

The meal was not good, but Lady Westhaven bore up admirably considering the outcome of the repast. The pea soup was thicker than molasses, the potatoes were burned on the underside, and the roast beef, shriveled and dry, defied her utensils.

Lady Westhaven sipped greedily at the port to wash down the overdone food and for once held her tongue. She feared any objections she made could be taken up by her son and cause their oversensitive host to take offense again. Reggie was not a commendable shot, by any means.

Years ago, Cedric had often lamented this fact to his wife when he’d taken his son out on a hunt. Until now, Lady Westhaven considered such matters of little importance.

What was the world coming to? A plebeian sitting down table from her. Her son ignoring her discomfort as he engrossed himself in listening to a war tale by Mr. Thurmond. Lady Norwood conversing with the steward as if he were a member of the family. And Lady Westhaven also noticed her niece kept casting moonling glances toward Lord Norwood with as covert an intent as a demirep at a Cyprian’s ball. That, above half, was the worst. Her niece making a cake of herself over a Colonial, of all things.

She attempted to draw Claresta away from her disgusting regard of the earl and give Rutherford the cut at the same time by directing the conversation toward subjects the bailiff would know nothing about. She prattled on about London’s current fashion and gossiped about the royal family, but occasionally the low bred man would interject some inane question that had little to do with Lady Westhaven’s expertise, and she felt nonplused to answer. Such was the question he put to her when she began a knowledgeable account of the funereal proceedings for the princess who’d tragically died in childbirth the past year.

"What sort of garb did they dress Princess Charlotte’s babe in for the burying?"

"Really, Mr. Rutherford," she responded icily. "Such morbid things should not be discussed at the dinner table."

"Excuse me, your ladyship. Didn’ know ‘twas okay to speak on the mourning garments worn by the royal family and not that worn by the deceased princess and her poor dead babe."

Lady Westhaven fanned her face. Talk of such tragic losses always affected her equipoise.

"Nasty business, people dying, what?" interjected Thurmond, and he entered into a debate with Westhaven about which was worse, civil deaths of slow, preparatory mourning or the inescapable casualties one stumbled across during the heat of battle.

Rutherford returned to his discussion of Norwood tenants with his host after apologizing to Lady Westhaven. But the lady made a grab for her goblet and downed the remainder of her port when Thurmond began to describe an injured man who’d begged his fellow officers to finish him off before the damned rebels got a hold of him.

While Lady Westhaven was motioning for Douglas to refill her wineglass, the dowager leaned to her right and whispered an apology to Claresta for the bad fare and explained that Coggins choleric sensibilities to last minute guests often showed up in his cooking. Claresta recalled Mrs. Williams’ voicing a similar concern of this earlier and told the dowager that, as no one had complained, she should not worry.

Bored with her aunt’s opinions about the latest fashion news, and not wishing to hear Thurmond pontificate on the dreadful events during the Colonial war, she turned to converse with the bailiff and Drake.

"Have you lived at Norwood for many years, Mr. Rutherford?"

"All my life, Miss. And I should have sorely missed it had I been made to leave."

"Whoever could make you leave if you did not want to?"

He exchanged a look with Drake and his lordship spoke. "People without means or influence are often forced to do things they do not want to do, Miss Huntington. How fortunate you are if you have never been made to do something you did not wish."

"Oh, but I have. When I was five my mother disallowed me to have a ginger cake. I was forced to wait several hours before Cook could sneak one into my room," she said, being deliberately facetious.

The earl laughed at her jest, but Claresta wondered what he’d say if she told him of the mandate in her father’s will which would force her to take a husband against her wishes. He would know of it soon enough, she decided, but this was not the time or place to bring it up. "Did I hear you say you’d be riding tomorrow morning? I wonder if I might join you?"

"I’m terribly sorry, but there’s business I must attend while out that cannot be delayed," Drake said regretfully.

"Oh, I see. Another time."

The look of disappointment on Claresta’s face almost made Drake relent. She would be a lovely companion to take along on his visit to Haverton Hall. But before he called on Chelsworth, he must take care of the situation with Conyers, and he would not subject her to the sort of ugly scene that may come about from his dealings with the man.

"The day after, I am to visit some of the tenants. It will make for quite a long day, but if you don’t mind that, I would be honored to have your company." Drake hoped she would accept, for he really did look forward to having the lady all to himself for a change.

"Not at all, sir. We could take a lunch basket and make a day of it."

"A picnic. What a splendid idea, Miss Huntington," the dowager said, having overheard the conversation. "I shall tell Coggins to prepare food for the two of you."

Lady Westhaven poked Reggie in the arm. "Reggie has been dying to take the air, haven’t you, dear?"

"You know I cannot abide the sun for long, Mother, it ruins my complexion."

"Balderdash, young man. Sunshine is good for the skin, what? Toughens it, you know." Thurmond thumped his flabby chest as if he were a hardy example.

If Claresta could have reached her solicitor’s shins under the table she would have kicked him solidly. Didn’t he know she was trying to find an opportunity to get Drake alone so she could make her proposal? "My cousin surely knows his own mind about what is best for himself."

"But, I was thinking of what is best for you, Claresta," Lady Westhaven said disapprovingly. "It would be quite abominable of us to allow you to ride around the countryside without a chaperone."

Mr. Rutherford grunted, and Lady Westhaven gave him a nervous glance before she turned to get confirmation from her son. "Is that not so, Reginald?"

"Really, Aunt Ester," Claresta said. "There is no need for Reggie to put himself out. Douglas will act as my groom."

Lady Westhaven tut-tutted and shook her head. "'Tis not quite the same, my dear, when you are in the company of an unattached gentleman."

"I quite agree, Lady Westhaven."

Claresta was disappointed with Drake’s cooperative statement, but took heart when he added, "Lord Westhaven is welcome to join us, but I fear the curricle will hold only two. Of course, we could mount him on Cantankerous, I suppose."

"Egads," Reggie cried.

"’Tis hard to believe that old nag is still living." Mr. Rutherford chuckled. "Why she must be nigh on twenty years old. Still takes a dulcet bit, I suppose."

"Cantankerous is as she has always been," the dowager answered. "Percy took the filly from an ale vendor fifteen years ago when he discovered the fellow beating the poor green animal unmercifully. Paid the scoundrel a lofty sum, too. I fear Percy got the worst of the deal."

Moisture gathered in Lady Norwood’s eyes. Claresta reached over and touched the dowager’s hand, and the lady smiled wistfully.

Reginald, much relieved that Cantankerous, instead of being a rowdy young stud was an aged mare, decided his mother was right. He should keep an eye on Claresta and prevent her from making a ninny of herself. She was bound to offer her ridiculous proposition to Lord Norwood once she got him alone. "No harm in taking a little air, I suppose."

After the gentlemen finished their port, Mr. Rutherford declined the invitation to join the ladies in the drawing room.

Drake was beginning to despair of ever getting Claresta to himself. Finally when Lady Westhaven began to abuse the pianoforte and their ears with an unidentifiable piece, Claresta wandered over to one of a pair of wing chairs near the back of the room. He quickly snagged the other chair for himself.

"It is plain to see you did not take music lessons from your aunt." He’d leaned closer so the others could not overhear and caught her delicious lavender scent. He felt a little off center and wondered if it were the aftereffects of his recent illness.

She held her fan in front of her mouth, but he could see a dancing gleam in her eyes. Behind the decorative camouflage, she said, "No, indeed. My father provided me with nothing less than the finest music teacher available, but I fear I was a poor student at the onset. At five, I much preferred chasing the half dozen abandoned kittens we’d just taken in."

"Six kittens. You must have had very indulgent father to allow you to keep that many for your own."

"I used to think so," she said with a sad expression.

"Ah. I suppose a father must draw the line somewhere. What instance occasioned you to face the realities of life?"

"I think," she said hesitating for a moment. Then she turned her shimmering gaze on him and finished, "I believe it was when I discovered my father was very ill, and I realized he would never get well again."

What a bungler he was, Drake thought. In another moment he’d have the lady crying in public. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories."

"It seems such a long time ago," she said and gave him a brave smiled. "But tell me, sir. What of you? Was there a particular instance when you were first enlightened with the burdens of maturity?"

"Let me see," he said. He rubbed his long fingers across his chin and pretended to think deeply for a moment. "It must have been that one particular Sunday morning right after I turned twelve. I was sitting at the back of the church--my favorite spot since it was easier to make an early escape, should the need arise. I was listening intently to Reverend Johnson expostulate on the sins of the flesh. I guess Mary Sue Jenkins was as inspired as I for she suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me down between the pews. Then she horse buzzed me right on the lips. I found it to be a very enlightening moment to say the least."

Claresta laughed aloud. It was like music to Drake’s ears. The only music filling the room, he realized, when he looked up and saw everyone staring at them. Drake immediately set about thumping Claresta on the back. "Must have got something caught in her throat."

She quickly lowered her head and lifted the fan in front of her face. He thumped her a bit harder, causing her next pealing laugh to come out as a choking sound.

* * *

After Claresta and her relatives retired for the evening, Drake and Lady Norwood met briefly in the library. The dowager was too excited to sleep and felt more vibrant than she had in an age, in spite of her aching joints.

"I cannot tell you how good it is to have a gentleman at Norwood again, sir. If all goes well . . ." such as a betrothal to the wealthy Miss Huntington, but she’d leave that orchestration up to the young lady. By all indications this evening in the drawing room the gel was doing a fine job of it, too. ". . . things will be as they were before my dear Percy—

"Dear me!" Lady Norwood suddenly realized how angry Denton would be with her. She and Drake had discussed the possibility of a change of guards, so to speak, before Rutherford arrived that morning. She had just not thought out the consequences of following through on such a decision. "Denton will be cross as a cat when he finds out you discharged Conyers."

"I don’t think there is much to be concerned about, my lady. But certainly we should not bandy the news about until I’ve dealt with the man," Drake cautioned.

"You’re right. He’ll be beside himself when you give him his dismissal, that is to say, if he’s not too cup-shot to know your meaning. But, if his wits are about him, I daresay, he’ll hop the first mail coach leaving King’s Lynn for London to report your temerity to Denton."

"Denton may not like it, but there is little he will be able do to reverse things."

"That may very well be, but I’m sure he’ll do his utmost to bully me on the subject."

Drake stiffened. "Not unless he wishes to wear his nose on the wrong side of his head."

The dowager laughed. She was very pleased that the earl was ready to defend her to such an extent. Miss Huntington would never find such a fine bargain in another choice for husband. "I cannot see Denton allowing things to come to that. He has a stout heart for intimidating little old ladies, but when it comes to fisticuffs with a gentleman of greater stature, I’m almost certain he’ll cry craven. And, as you say, what can he do?"

"Not much."

"Exactly." She felt much braver now that she knew the earl would back her at all cost. "As you pointed out, until you gain proof of your identity and file it with the magistrate, I have every right to make decisions. A fact Denton has been deliberately negligent in explaining to me. Well, enough on the subject. I really do like your Miss Huntington. She is a true lady, is she not?"

"Yes, I believe she conducts herself with the utmost decorum." Remembering Claresta’s tumble into his room, Drake knew that was a bit of an exaggeration. But, she had treated Mr. Rutherford kindly at dinner, speaking to him respectfully when none of the others would. Besides honesty and respectability, kindness was the sort of thing Drake most admired in a woman.

Lady Norwood cleared her throat and rose to leave. "Hmmm. Well, it’s way past my bedtime."

"There is one thing I’ve been curious about," Drake said. "When we spoke of Miss Huntington in London, I believe you told me you were not personally acquainted with the lady. You must have had plenty of opportunity to make her acquaintance while residing in Town. How is it you waited to invite her to the country to pay you a visit?"

"That is a puzzle, isn’t it?" Upon that cryptic note Lady Norwood turned and left the room.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Three more days would pass before Claresta had the full pleasure of Drake Lockwood’s company, for he spent long hours away from Norwood Manor.

The dowager assured her the gentleman was deeply involved in estate business and not deliberately avoiding his guests. He wanted to petition for enclosure during the next session of the House of Commons, and he was required to spend a great deal of time trying to convince one of the area’s major landowners to sign the petition. The man seemed especially stubborn about the matter. She did not say which neighbor he was having difficulty with.

Claresta tried to occupy her time during his absences, but she found herself continually reviewing the contract Thurmond brought her. Everything looked in order, but she must come up with the name of a trustee and soon.

"Excuse me, miss." The housekeeper stood in the doorway of the library twisting her hands together.

"Yes," Claresta said and put down the paper in her hand. "What is it this time?" The woman-of-all-works seemed to have no knowledge of handling a full staff of servants. The LeClairs had arrived and were working at a much faster pace than Mrs. Williams was accustomed.

"Sorry to disturb you, miss." The housekeeper bobbed a nervous curtsy. "But the gels, they done polished all the silver and spruced up the dining room pretty as you please. I declare, I ain’t never seen this place looking so fine."

Claresta sighed. "That’s wonderful, Mrs. Williams. You’re all doing a fine job. Is there anything else you wished?"

"Well, miss, I just wondered if you wouldn’ like them to spruce up the library a bit next."

"Since I’m occupying the library at the moment, Mrs. Williams, why don’t you ‘spruce up’ another room?"

The woman twisted her hands some more, but did not budge.

"The front parlor, Mrs. Williams, has it been tended to yet?"

"No, miss."

"Well, then, I suggest you start in there. Work your way around all the other rooms on this floor, and then send them upstairs to dust and air the bedrooms."

"Yes, miss." More hand twisting. "Will you be wanting the library done, too, before they do the upstairs, miss."

Claresta was tempted to lean over and bang her head against the desk. "Check with me again when the other chores are completed."

"Yes, miss." She bobbed and backed up several times before turning to leave.

Did all servants need such specific guidance? She wished Nan were here to handle the household. She did not realize she had voiced her wishes aloud until a deep masculine voice said, "Not getting homesick already, are you?"

Drake stepped into the library, and she opened the desk drawer and slid the settlement papers inside.

"Not in the least. Just wishful of my housekeeper’s guidance in directing the new servants."

Drake frowned. "Shouldn’t Mrs. Williams be taking care of that?"

"Of course, the dear woman does her best, but she’s been used to running things in a perfunctory manner, and the LeClair twins are quite efficient in their duties. I’m sure once Mrs. Williams gets used--"

"That may well be, Claresta, but it is not your obligation to act in her stead. I shall have a talk with Lady Norwood. If we’re paying Mrs. Williams a fair wage, then she should be expected to carry out her duties efficiently."

Claresta realized that the dowager had not mentioned that the new servants were being compensated with Huntington funds. She did not think it prudent to inform Drake of that circumstance now and wondered if he would dismiss the entire staff if he knew. Maybe turn out his guests, too.

"Really, sir, it is not a bother in the least," she falsely stated, for she did not want to get the amiable housekeeper in trouble with her new master. "I pray you do not mention it to the dowager. The lady is not fit today, having had a distressing night of it."

"Her rheumatism, I suppose."

Claresta nodded, and she noted a deep shadow of concern in the gentleman’s countenance. Then he said, "Of course, I would not think of disturbing her. But I’ll speak to Mrs. Williams nonetheless."

"As you wish, sir."

He smiled. The room seemed to have taken on a brighter glow, and Claresta searched to see if the servants had been in while she wasn’t looking and taken down the heavy drapes for cleaning. She was somewhat surprised to find them still in place.

"I apologize for being such a terrible host these last few days. I hope you will allow me to make it up to you. If you do not mind visiting a couple of tenants beforehand, I’d like to take you on that picnic you mentioned the other evening."

Claresta almost cheered with delighted. Now she would have her chance to speak with Drake alone. She contained her exuberance and said, "I will go up and change. Shall we meet in the hallway?"

"Splendid. Your cousin is just now come down to the breakfast room, so we shall leave shortly."

Drat. She’d hoped they could be away before Reggie stirred from his bed.

* * *

Later, Elrod, the youngest LeClair, brought Cantankerous out to the side yard saddled and ready for Lord Westhaven to ride.

Reggie was surprised, but pleased that the mare did not look the least haggardly for her age. At least, he wouldn’t have to fear Cantankerous would expire before returning to the stables that afternoon.

He was further disabused of his mount’s feeble state when Puggy came charging out of the stables. Seeing Lord Westhaven, she began a merry dance around Cantankerous’ hooves, circling and jumping up as if trying to get at his lordship’s highly polished Hessians.

As a result of the disturbance, Cantankerous took off at a fast gallop. Reggie shouted for a halt as he jerked sharply back on the mare’s reins. Instead of slowing Cantankerous down, the commands seemed to inspire her to greater speed.

Claresta watched in dismay. Reggie disappeared around a curve in the drive, holding tightly to Cantankerous’ mane and shouting to he top of his voice, "Halt, I say."

Claresta’s dismay lasted only a moment, and the ridiculousness of the scene overcame her. She burst out laughing. Reggie had such a tight grip on the horse’s mane she doubted he would be unseated, but she wasn’t completely lacking in concern. She laughingly said, "I hope he doesn’t get lost."

"Don’t worry," Drake said, himself chuckling. "I imagine we’ll catch up to him at the end of the drive. Cantankerous has to be coaxed to go further than the threshold of the gateway. She’s a dulcet bit."

"Dulcet bit? I remember Mr. Rutherford mentioning it. What does it mean?"

"Just that she doesn’t take to loud commands and a tight rein. She does best with gentle handling, and there are certain words she responds to."

"A code? Excellent. Will you tell me?"

As they drove out Drake explained. "Well, not a code exactly. Shouting irritates the animal. Sometimes Cantankerous reacts simply by refusing to budge, and other times she races away. But do not worry, usually her hasty flights are no more than for a short distance. In any event, her first obstinate stance takes place at the front gate. She must be coaxed to leave the safe refuge her master has provided her at Norwood estate."

"Poor thing, she must remember her ill treatment at the hands of the vendor."

Drake did not agree or disagree. But as he had predicted, they found Reggie tugging futilely at Cantankerous’ reins, trying to get her to venture onto the roadway.

"Having trouble, Reggie?" Claresta asked.

"Blasted fool. Stubborn as a mule, she is."

"Come along, dumpling," Drake said and made a clicking noise with his tongue as they exited onto the roadway.

Reggie gasped in amazement when Cantankerous pranced along behind the carriage as if she were marching in a parade.

"That’s the way to go, you stubborn bone-setter," Reggie said, but his words were not terribly harsh sounding, so the animal continued at an agreeable pace.

After they reached the first crossing, Reggie decided to pick up the pace a little. He slapped Cantankerous with the reins and prodded her with his boot heels. The horse’s ears came up sharply, and she danced sideways. He grasped her mane again and yelled as she cut across the near field as if a swarm of bees were on her tail.

Claresta laughed. "You’re certain she will stop at a short distance?"

"I believe so. At the very least there is a stream in her path, and I’ve found she is as timid of crossing water as she is leaving the estate."

After Reggie and his mount made several wayward jaunts, Claresta decided she didn’t know who looked more worn out, Reggie or Cantankerous.

Taking pity on the poor mount she tried to explain to her cousin how best to manage the animal. However, Reggie ignored her advice and caused further opposition from the poor beast throughout the rest of the day. Having Cantankerous somewhat under control for the time being, Reggie bounced along on the loping bay beside Norwood’s curricle.

Claresta wished there was some way to get Drake alone, but with her cousin along on their outing, she knew it wasn’t likely to happen this day. Even the errant rides elicited by Reggie’s ignorance of handling his mount took her cousin out of sight for only a few minutes at a time.

He had seemed so bored during their visits to the tenants earlier that she’d almost felt sorry for him. Reggie was used to a more frivolous set of companions and could offer nothing to the conversation about livestock and barley yield.

He knew little about farming. Little about anything, as it went, except gaming, and Claresta felt a pang of pity for her cousin because of that. His father died at a time a boy needs a man’s guidance. But in comparison, Drake’s father had died, so he’d told her, when he was but a young man, and he had learned on his own.

In fact he seemed to have a wide range of knowledge. And as the day went along, she discovered more and more about him. He talked to the tenants about crops, animal husbandry, and repairs as if he were used to being in charge of overseeing such tasks. And he discussed literature and theology with her as if he were well versed on the subject, although he professed to having had little formal education. He read a lot, he said, which must account for his keen mind.

She also learned he’d lived with his grandfather and worked in a shipping office when he was but a lad. Then after his father remarried he returned to live at Oakcrest where his stepmother took over his education. That too suffered neglect when his father died and left him with the responsibility of running things until his younger brother came of age. This was the part that confused Claresta.

"But you were the oldest, why did you not inherit?"

Drake shrugged.

How impertinent she was for asking, she thought, when his eyes took on a wounded look. His father had done him a terrible injustice, yet he’d not taken revenge upon his family. Why could Reggie not be as generous, when he’d had no injustice done him a’tall?

Perhaps, the difference was that her cousin always had relatives to take care of him, whereas, she perceived Drake the caretaker of his relations. At least, that was her impression from his description of his sister and stepmother. He said he’d promised them a home in England, and now that he saw the extent of the chore, maybe he’d be receptive to Claresta’s offer to provide it for them.

"There is a lot of restoration work to be done on Norwood land."

"Yes, there is," Drake answered with a rueful smile. She was perhaps the most enchanting female he’d ever known. She’d insisted Mrs. Childers, heavy with child, should sit at the kitchen table with the men while she prepared their tea. When Mrs. Gray, the wife of the tenant they’d just left, offered Miss Huntington a jar of calves jelly to take along on their picnic, the young lady had accepted the offering as if it were a real delicacy. She hadn’t even taken offense when Mr. Gray, a barrel-bellied loud speaking man, told her to take two, if she liked them so well, then added that they were quite fattening, and she looked like she could use a little more meat on her bones. Miss Huntington had laughed graciously and complained that her thinness had not been due to any lack of appetite.

"It will take a good deal of money, will it not?"

"What?" Drake said feeling a bit disoriented for a moment when she smiled at him. He was thinking Mr. Gray was quite wrong about her figure. She was a perfect specimen of womanhood. His hands could probably easily span her waist, it was true, but her hips had a nice rounded shape, and her breasts looked ample enough to overfill a man’s palms. Said appendages itched to find out.

"To refurbish Norwood Manor and make the land productive." He did not seem at all bothered, Claresta thought, by the enormous outlay needed to put things on the Norwood lands to rights. "Have you considered how you shall manage the financing?"

"Some."

"Perhaps you could borrow from the Bank of London."

"I suppose I could give it a try, but I doubt they would have much interest in an already failing estate."

Hopeful once again, she said, "There are other ways for a gentleman to acquire financing for such a venture."

"I am sure there are."

Undaunted by his lack of interest, she continued, "Have you ever considered a marriage of convenience to a woman of substance? Such arrangements are made quite often in England, you know."

"In America, too. Not long ago, a neighbor to Oakcrest made me just such an proposition to hitch up with his daughter, Miss Chastity Richardson. He promised all the land adjoining Oakcrest would become mine, should I take him up on his offer. Then, of course, since he had no male heirs, the rest of his holdings, quite substantial, I must say, would pass to any children the marriage produced."

"Oh." This revelation bothered her very much. Could he be thinking of taking this neighbor up on his generous offer to marry this Chastity female? Did the lady’s Christian name imply something of her character? Claresta could just imagine anyone named Chastity would be a timid, virtuous woman, full of devotion, faithful and trustworthy. Was this retiring type of female what a man wanted for a wife?

Claresta was virginal in body, and she thought none could be more faithful and devoted than she. But, she had to admit, she wasn’t as retiring as a gentleman might hope. She did not want to think on the other virtue, trustworthiness. There must be many other foundations on which to build a relationship. None of which she could bring to mind at the moment.

"But surely, sir, nothing the man could offer would measure up to the vast possibilities of the Norwood estates. Did not Mr. Rutherford say if all went well with your planning, the field production could triple by next year’s harvest? I know things look a little overwhelming at the moment, what with the drainage problems and enclosures, but you cannot think to just give up."

She was babbling, she knew, but somehow she felt rather desperate to convince Drake how much he needed her. And the only way to do that was for him to become as impassioned about his English properties as he was about his prospects in America. "Sir, you cannot just give up." When she realized she’d only repeated herself, she added, "Why, think of the tenants. Think of the dowager. They need you." I need you.

The realization that she needed him more than he needed her stunned her for a moment. A titled, handsome gentleman could have his pick of any number of wealthy heiresses of the ton. How would she ever convince him that he should "hitch up" with a woman with a tainted reputation? One without the proper connections to promote his sister’s debut into society? Her only hope was to keep him from finding out those things until after the wedding.

Trustworthiness. She felt a little guilty for deceiving him, but she would compensate him very generously for the trifling deception.

Pointing to a cluster of oak trees on a grass-covered knoll, Drake said, "That looks like the place Mrs. Gray mentioned for our picnic."

"It does look inviting," Claresta agreed. The land rose in a slight incline above a small lake. A stand of shade trees held a picturesque view at the top of the rise. No doubt, the opposite view toward the lake was just as lovely.

Reggie groaned when all came to a stop. "We could be back at Norwood in a trice. Why can’t we wait and have a meal sitting in chairs when we get there?"

"Because, it would be such a waste to go inside when one can spend it in such a lovely place as this," Claresta chided.

Drake was pleased that Claresta liked the outdoors so well. He had been having daydreams about her in different settings on his estate. He had much to do, refurbishing the house and lands, finding his sister a suitable husband, before he could think more clearly about settling down, raising a family. He’d been teasing her about Chastity Richardson, for he no longer found being married to that particular lady appealing.

He stepped down from the carriage and could feel Claresta’s soft amber eyes follow him around the horses to her side of the curricle. He wasn’t surprised that he’d already decided to make England his home instead of returning to America. Claresta had influenced his decision more than the fertile beauty of his estate. Although, that too was a remarkable enticement.

Momentarily forgetting about propriety, he placed his hands upon Miss Huntington’s slender waist and was delighted to find his calculations were accurate. His hands spanned her waist with ease. He swung her down from the curricle. Her enticing lavender scent made his nostrils flare, and his body reacted with an unexpected jolt. Drake had never experienced such a profound reaction to a woman’s nearness before.

As soon as he had the means, he made up his mind to court the lady properly. Then he would present her with a proposal to make her his wife. He hated the months of waiting he must endure, but he did not want to scare her off. "English ladies are sticklers about doing things in an orderly, proper, and traditional manner," Druscilla had once told him.

He stepped away from Claresta, when Westhaven came up beside them and made another complaint. "Probably ants about."

"Oh, Reggie, quit being such a Friday-face," Claresta scolded. She strolled up the incline toward the spot they’d picked out.

"You are welcome to return to the house, Westhaven, and take your meal there," Drake offered before following the lady.

Westhaven sniffed. "I cannot leave Claresta without a chaperone. ‘Twould be unseemly."

"Suit yourself," Drake said, thinking it unwise to tell the protective cousin that he wished him to the devil. He would give a gold sovereign to enjoy a few moments alone with Claresta. Had he known at the time that Westhaven were a purse-leech, he might have made the offer.

The surly gentleman turned and walked off to inspect a narrow boat he spotted moored to a small dock. Drake followed Claresta with the picnic basket. He gleaned a good deal of pleasure from watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walked up the rise and enjoyed the glimpse of her well-turned ankles as she lifted her skirts to step over a fallen limb. His breathing became a bit laboured for such a short walk, and he wondered if it were the aftereffects of his recent illness. Although, just yesterday he’d taken several turns around the gardens at Haverton with Lady Emmeline Chelsworth and not been the least winded by it.

He spread the blanket they’d brought along and took Claresta’s hand to assist her as she sat down on it. He knelt down beside her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked smiling.

"Ravished."

"Then you must let go of my hand, so I may serve our meal."

He’d never been so affected by the mere smile of a beautiful woman and had a strong urge to pull her into his arms right then and there. Glancing over at Westhaven now coming their way, he reluctantly let go of her hand. "I did not tell you how beautiful you look today, Claresta."

"Thank you, my lord." She turned from emptying the basket, and her gaze caught and held his for a long moment. "Y-You are quite the handsomest man I’ve ever met."

Claresta’s impulsive statement caused her to drop the wedge of cheese she held in her hand. She’d never been so outspoken before, unless you counted the three proposals of marriage she’d previously made. But she had never, even in the extreme productions to convince the other prospects to marry her, blurted out such nonsensical flattery.

From his long silence, she wondered if Drake thought the worst of her for being so direct. She avoided further eye contact with him and continued setting out their repast. Thankfully, Reggie approached then.

"The boat looks fit, Claresta. We should take a turn about the lake after we eat."

It was the first show of enthusiasm her cousin had shown for their outing. She thought Drake would be pleased not to have to endure Reggie’s surliness any longer. She certainly had been tiring of it. "Sounds like a capital idea. What say you, Lord Norwood?"

"I don’t like the idea at all," Drake said with a disagreeableness in his tone she’d not heard before.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Claresta, disappointed by Drake’s refusal to go boating with them, persisted in trying to persuade him to change his mind. "It would be fun."

"Then you and Lord Westhaven are welcome to it," Drake said with finality.

Claresta did not allow the conversation to lag during their meal in spite of Drake’s disagreeable turn. Nor did she allow his churlish attitude to dampen her enthusiasm for the coming event. And trying to lighten the mood, she went about recalling a childhood episode. "Remember when we were children, Reggie, and Edwin and I talked you into taking us out in Grandpapa’s skiff so we could play a game of pirates."

"Yes," Reggie said, exhibiting a rare grin. "You were playing captain as usual and had snitched one of your grandfather Gilbert’s broadswords from his collection. I remember you stuck your foot upon the bow and wielded the heavy instrument in the air, shouting, ‘Stand ready, mates, and bring her about.’"

She wrinkled her nose and tried to draw Drake into the conversation. "I daresay, Lord Norwood, my cousin never took my orders so willingly before. He swung the boat about so quickly, I lost my balance."

"You would have gone to the bottom of the Thames with the broadsword had Edwin not grabbed you." Reggie guffawed. "Had you by the ankles, he did. Took both of us to haul you back aboard, because you fought us like a she-cat. Can you believe it, Norwood? She wanted to dive into the brink and retrieve her Grandpapa’s collectible."

"We should get back to the manor soon," Drake said, seeming not the least entertained by their story. "I invited one of the neighbors to dinner."

A heavy frown creased his brow, and Claresta realized he was in a brown study. Had she done something to cause his suddenly surly mood?

"Deuce take it, Norwood. A while ago you seemed in no rush to get back," Reggie protested.

"There’s a cloud coming up, and the water is getting a bit choppy," Norwood said.

Reggie muttered an expletive, and Claresta felt the camaraderie of the day slipping away. It was the first time in a long while she and her cousin had been on congenial terms, and she so wished to make peace with her family. But on the other hand, she could not afford to antagonize the man she would soon ask to marry her. The gentleman had a paradoxical nature. One instant he had been amiable and sociable, and the next he’d become terse and aloof. But her grandfather had not so often referred to her as a slyboots for naught.

Coaxing her way out of being punished for the loss of his favorite sword had been one of many instances during her childhood she had finessed him and her father into her way of things. The wiles of a spoiled brat, Reggie, had called it. She had always considered it self-preservation in a household filled with predominately male members.

"Just for a little while, sir," Claresta wheedled. "The weather looks as if it will hold off for awhile."

He stared at her for a long moment, and then his features softened a little. "Go on with you, then."

He’d given in to her wishes readily enough and yet she still was not satisfied. "Are you sure you do not wish to join us? It would be more fun if you came."

"It will be much safer with only two occupying such a small craft."

There was truth to his statement, but Drake did not mean to sound so sullen. He regretted his earlier sharp retort, as well, but there was no way he could explain his timidity of boarding small water vessels. What a fool he would look if he became ill, which would likely be the outcome if he stepped aboard that narrow, swaying boat. "Go on," he repeated. "I’ll gather our things and put them in the carriage."

"You don’t mind if we go, then?" Claresta asked hesitantly.

He smiled at her and felt better for seeing the anxious look leave her lovely face. "I don’t mind. Have your frolic, but don’t take too long about it. I truly do have other guests coming this evening."

Drake watched the pair board the small vessel and had a strong inclination to call them back. By the time he’d loaded their things, the wind had picked up, and the waves were slapping at the shoreline with more force than before. He decided to wave them in before the wind got any stronger.

He walked to the edge of the dock and regretted his action almost immediately. Claresta stood up in the boat and waved back to him. Reggie lifted one of the oars from the water--for what reason, Drake could not fathom. Perhaps he saw Drake wave them in and was making an attempt to bring them about. There was a sharp crack of thunder, just before a brisk breeze stirred the craft and spun the boat in a half circle.

Claresta went sailing over the side and Reggie, in a sudden grappling effort, reached out to her and lost one of the oars. The boat, aided by the wind, drifted further away. The man again tried to retrieve the other oar when a wave pushed it on the same course past him.

Claresta struggled for buoyancy. Drake yelled to Lord Westhaven to forget the lost oar and use the one he had. The man then paddled rigorously with the one oar, but headed aimlessly in circles. Blast the incompetent!

Claresta floundered for another moment on the surface and then sunk below. Drake knew exactly what was happening. Her skirts, absorbing more water now, were weighing her down.

Her heavy skirts killed her.

The mumbled words from the mourners at his mother’s funeral had since become a whispered dirge in his mind, and it came to him so strongly now that he shouted in anguish, "No!"

He did not waste precious time as his father had all those years ago. Drake quickly jerked off his jacket and discarded his boots. He would be of little use to Claresta if his own heavy garments hindered him from reaching her in time. He dove into the lake, stunned for a moment by the coldness of the water.

He was grateful now for the times his father threw him into the pond behind Oakcrest in the dead of winter and demanded he sink or save himself. Drake doubted his father cared which.

He saw Claresta come up for a quick gulp of air and go under again. Swimming faster than he’d ever thought possible before, Drake reached the area where he’d last seen her surface. He dove down twice before he located her by feel in the brackish water. His hand caught in her long flowing hair, which had come loose from its bindings. She seemed to be resisting his efforts to bring her to the surface. Then he realized she was tugging ineffectually at her underskirts.

Drake grabbed a handful of the material and ripped the weighty garments away, tearing a portion of her dress in the process. He wasted no time wrapping one arm around her and pulling her to the surface.

She coughed and sputtered, and then laughed. "I’m all right."

She may be, but he certainly wasn’t. His heart slammed against his chest like a hammer striking an anvil. She had scared the living daylights out of him, and she dared laugh. Had he not needed both arms to keep them afloat he would gladly strangle her. Finally he dragged them both onto the shore. They fell in a heap, his arm still wound tightly beneath her breasts.

"You idiotic little minx. You could have drowned," he exclaimed brusquely and barely resisted the urge to shake her until her teeth rattled.

When she laughed again, he lost his reserve. He crushed her to him and kissed her. Her lips parted on a gasp, and he rammed his tongue inside. She tasted of salt and weeds and rain. Not exactly an aphrodisiacal combination, but desire stronger than anything he’d ever felt before surged through Drake.

He’d meant the kiss to punish her, but he was the one who suffered. It had started raining, but he paid little heed. He didn’t want to let her go. Not now. Not ever.

Lord Westhaven popped onto the scene and broke the bewitching spell of sweet rapture, or self-imposed torture, Drake knew not know which.

"Good lord, man, what are you about?"

Drake was in no mood to humor the man. He reluctantly tore his lips away from Claresta’s and said, "Get my coat and boots and bring down the carriage. Tie your mount to the back. You will drive."

The look he gave Lord Westhaven brooked no argument. The dandy did as he was told and said nothing when Drake climbed onto the seat and lifted Claresta onto his lap. The lady did not seem to mind. She settled her head cozily against his shoulder, sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

Claresta had never felt so safe in her life. She knew she was taking great advantage of the special care the earl was giving her, for she was only slightly fatigued from her ordeal. He’d come to her rescue very quickly.

She’d had a moment’s scare when she had trouble divesting herself of her underskirts, but afterwards she could easily have made the swim to shore on her own. Instead she found herself playing the part of a milk-and-water-miss, something she’d never done before.

She’d allowed Drake to bring her to shore under his capabilities alone. She had no doubt now that he’d fully recovered his strength, for his hold on her had been relentless. She had not expected him to rail at her like a disobedient child, nor to kiss her with such suddenness, such passion.

It was the passion that had her still trembling. It had been the first time a man had thrust his tongue inside her mouth, and as repulsive as the act should have been, it had excited her beyond belief.

He must like her excessively to kiss her with such intimacy. Then the thought struck her. What if he had already decided to ask her to marry him?

She overcame her momentary excitement and realized she must present her offer beforehand. It would seem quite impolite to do so after the fact. Will you marry me? Certainly, my lord, but first you must sign this agreement.

He would have no choice but to carry through with a covenant then. But wasn’t that what she’d wanted?

Her head must have absorbed too much water. She was not thinking clearly. She settled against his inviting broad shoulder and closed her eyes to gather her wits. She breathed in Drake’s manly scent, and her wits flew the coop. All she could think about was that kiss.

When they reached Norwood Manor, Elrod ran out to steady the team as Reggie jumped down from the carriage. "Hand her to me," he said and reached up for Claresta.

Drake handed her over to her cousin, and Claresta’s eyes immediately popped open. "Put me down. I don’t need to be looked after like an invalid."

She wriggled from Reggie’s arms so quickly she almost lost her balance when he sat her to her feet.

Drake came off the carriage quickly, took her forcefully by the arm and led her up the steps of the portico. "You may not be an invalid, but you certainly need looking after. Come along, Miss Huntington, I have not finished having my say with you."

"I am not a child." She twisted from his tight grasp.

"Then quit acting like one," he said gruffly, but did not attempt to touch her again.

Reggie scurried inside when Douglas opened the door.

Drake gave Claresta one long quelling look, then turned and left her standing on the portico, thunderstruck by his impertinent behavior.

Obviously, she had mistaken the meaning of his kiss. Lucky, Claresta thought, that she had not made her generous offer yet if he were going to be so difficult to manage. She hurried after him to give him a piece of her mind and almost ran into his backside when he came up short in the entry hall.

Reggie was nowhere in sight. Apparently, he’d already gone up to his rooms. He must have expected the earl’s spleen to be vented on him next.

"M’lordship, ye aire soaking wet."

"Indeed we are, Douglas. Please see that a hot bath is prepared for your mistress."

"Well, if it isn’t Calamity Claresta," a shrill voice piped from the open doorway of the salon to the right. "What catastrophe have you brought down on this gentleman’s head, Miss Huntington?"

"Why, you mean-spirit--"

"We’ve had a slight accident," Drake abruptly interrupted Claresta and bowed to Lady Chelsworth.

Lady Emmeline, standing next to her mother, giggled. She sobered quickly when her father, the portly Lord Chelsworth, pushed past her with a stern glance. He then turned to Drake and said, "I see we should have come at a more appropriate hour, Lord Norwood. I had thought to beat the rain by arriving early, but the weather appears to be clearing now."

Drake lowered his gaze to the growing puddle around his feet and cast Claresta a quelling look before answering Lord Chelsworth. "I beg you to make yourselves comfortable, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I should only take a moment to change and shall be down shortly to join you."

Lady Chelsworth pointed an accusing finger at Claresta. "I did not know she was your house guest. When I saw her in King’s Lynn . . . Well, Lady Norwood travels so infrequently to London, and you are too new to England, I never realized either of you were acquainted--"

"I can see you are anxious to reacquaint yourself with the lady as well, but Miss Huntington has suffered a mishap, and I believe she will wish to beg your leave this evening."

Lady Chelsworth sniffed. "If you value your life, sir, you should hope she begs your leave for good."

Almost brought to tears by Drake’s banishing words, Claresta scurried past her accuser and ran headlong up the stairs. Embarrassed, she did not look at the dowager as she brushed past her watching the scene from the bottom of the stairway.

Drake’s eyes followed Claresta as she ascended the stairs. He nodded to the dowager. Lady Norwood had just come down after being informed of the Chelsworth’s arrival, an ill-timed event to be sure. She urged the guests back into the drawing room. Lady Chelsworth, wailing at her husband for not informing her of that gel’s presence at Norwood. Chelsworth’s words urging his wife to stubble it, faded as Douglas closed the door after them.

"See to refreshments for our guests, Douglas," Lady Norwood ordered, "and tell them I had to see Cook about something."

Instead of turning toward the kitchen, however, she followed Claresta to her room where she found the gel flung across the bed, face down.

She seated herself on the edge of the bed and placed a hand on the young lady’s shoulder. "Come, child, you are made of sterner stuff than this. Was the mishap so terribly frightening?"

Claresta sat up and gave a tremulous smile. "I believe I took a few years off Dra . . . Lord Norwood’s life by tumbling off a small boat into the lake. Apparently, he’s annoyed because I wasn’t frightened as much as he thinks I should have been."

"’Tis the nature of man to want his lady to have tender sensibilities."

"His lady?" she laughed scornfully. "I fear it is not to be. Lady Chelsworth will see to that."

"The earl is already head over ears for you. There is naught she can say to change that."

Claresta’s gaze swept upward to meet Lady Norwood’s. "Did he say he has a tendre for me, my lady?"

"Of course, not. I do not believe he is as yet aware of it himself."

Lady Norwood was a romantic, Claresta thought as her spirits once again took a tumble. "His affections will never have a chance to develop now that Lady Chelsworth is here to spread the gossip about me."

"Gossip is gossip. A bitter woman, Lady Chelsworth. I rather feel sorry for her if she tries to speak ill of you to Lord Norwood." The dowager waved her hand in dismissal, then eyed Claresta narrowly. "Unless . . . She called you Calamity. Does that signify something other than what you have already told me about the death of her brother?"

Claresta stood and paced the floor. Just how far could she trust the dowager? The lady’s first loyalty would naturally be for her kinsman, and rightly so.

"I can see you do not yet trust me enough to confide in me. There is much I already know of you that I have not divulged either. Oh, don’t look so surprised, my dear. As you said there is plenty of gossip to be heard in the metropolis. I was recently there, if you will remember."

Claresta looked abashed. "I did not mean to deceive you, my lady."

"Of course, you didn’t. There are times when women of this day must take desperate measures merely to survive. I might have done differently myself, had I only half your gumption. But I will give you one piece of advice, my dear. No man likes to be made a fool of. Lord Norwood esteems honesty above all. He told me so himself. I do not know whether he would consider an omission of the whole truth the same as a lie. Is the risk greater to tell or not tell him all? This is something you have to decide for yourself."

Claresta tried to consider the dowager’s words, but she feared the earl’s kiss was still clouding her thinking. She knew the dowager expected her to say something, but how could she know what was the right thing to do while undergoing such raging emotions?

Lady Norwood sighed deeply. "I will do what I can to still Lady Chelsworth’s tongue this evening. After that, it’s up to you."

"Thank you, my lady," Claresta said with some relief. "You have been very kind."

The dowager made to leave, but said first, "Kindness has nothing to do with it, Miss Huntington. I have reasons of my own to wish this alliance between you and the earl, not the least of which is seeing Norwood Manor restored to its former zenith. But, if I were you, I would not delay making a proposal too much longer. I have a feeling Chelsworth has in mind a similar offer for Lord Norwood with his daughter and timing can be everything, you know."

The dowager left, and Claresta walked over to the window and looked down. Young LeClair was busily clipping a rose bush that had overgrown its bounds along the west wall. The gardens were already regaining their shape under the gardener’s care. She squinted into the growing dusk when LeClair suddenly looked over his shoulder and scurried out of sight behind a untrimmed shrub beside the walkway. A moment later she saw Lord Norwood step into view with Lady Emmeline. He offered her his arm, and before they wandered down the curved pathway, he looked up toward Claresta.

The evening sun reflected off her bedroom window, so she did not believe he could see her. His lips turned upward, in a rather wicked grin that made her doubt her conjecture. She moved out of view, then turned and leaned against the cool stone wall. Would he take Lady Emmeline to a secluded spot and kiss her, too? she wondered.

The thought of him placing his firm lips against any other’s besides her own made Claresta lightly bang the back of her head on the wall in frustration. This was silly, she thought. She was five and twenty, not some starry-eyed miss fresh from the schoolroom.

Remember the objective, she told herself. She must keep it in mind at all times. Saving her inheritance was too important. She’d come a long way to get Lord Norwood to marry her, and she would not give up her quest.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Douglas informed Claresta the next morning that his lordship wished to see her in the library without delay. She’d hoped he’d gotten over some of his pique with her by now. But an order to present herself posthaste was not a good sign. No matter, she thought, her future would be forecast one way or the other this day. Her mind was made up. "Very well, Douglas. I suppose he’s still out of humor with me?"

"‘ard to say, miss. Near nipped me head off when he tells me to fetch the others. But they seems to ‘ve come away without much of a scathing."

"Others?"

"Been fetching ‘em in and oot all morning, miss. Shut the doors behind ‘imself and Lady Norwood afore the cock crows, ‘e did. Then his lordship has me bring Lord Westhaven to ‘um. Doin’t think he like it a bit, yoir cousin, being roused so early from ‘is bed. In a bit of a brown study, Lord Norwood, after that meetin’. But in a while ‘e calls in Lady Westhaven, and ‘is mood, might say, turns a tod frothy. Then he goes back in and closes the door. Says oim not to disturb him. "‘as some letters to write, ‘e says. A few minutes later, he jerks open the door and bellows--yes, bellows, miss, and oim a’ standing right next to the door, mind ye--’fetch Mr. Thurmond,’ he says. ‘Now,’ he says, when oim a bit longer going ‘bout things than he wishes. ‘Twas a bit dazed, ye see. ‘Is lordship is usually more reserved in ‘is manner.

"Now don’ you go to worrying too much ‘bout ‘im being in a taking now, miss. Colm as a windless sea, ‘e was, when ‘e tells me to fetch ye."

Like the quiet before a tempest, Claresta thought, and couldn’t help fretting over what the others might have told him about her. She didn’t think Mr. Thurmond would reveal anything damning, and her aunt would never admit even to herself that Claresta was listed on the black books of Society. But Reggie would likely find being intimidated by Lord Norwood a fine excuse to reveal her unsavory involvement in Trade and the hideous reasons behind Lady Chelsworth’s animosity.

And what of that lady, Claresta wondered, had she filled Drake’s ears with Town gossip during dinner last evening? There was no way of knowing, unless she came right out and asked him, and she couldn’t do that without giving herself away. In any event, she still held out hope that the gentleman would consider her favorable offer that would avail him to unlimited funds for improving Norwood Manor.

"Very well, Douglas. Tell Lord Norwood, I’ll be down soon." After closing the door behind Douglas, she drew a deep breath. She must get her thoughts in order. She sat down at the writing table and withdrew a sheet of foolscap from the drawer. She dipped the pen in the pot from the inkstand and meditated for a moment on the matter.

This would be her last chance. She’d make her proposal. If Lord Norwood refused her, she would leave and accept her fate.

She wrote down the order in which she would present her case. First she would explain about her inheritance and her father’s edict. She made note of her many investments and holdings, the most important of which was the importing company, Gilbert and Huntington. Next, she would remind him of his plans for the Norwood estates. To this, too, she added an itemization; restoration to the manor, drain and plant new fields, enclosures of lands, and so on. The finale would be the presentation of her generous settlement terms. How could he refuse?

Feeling better for being a little more organized, she folded the foolscap and tucked it into the pocket of her morning dress. She took a last glance in the mirror and wondered if she should have Lizette straighten the curls that had escaped her topknot.

The omulu clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven. Lord Norwood wanted to see her right away, Douglas had said, and here she’d spent almost half an hour laboring over her outline. She hurriedly tucked the loose strands away herself, decided she looked presentable, and went to face her destiny.

"Come," Drake said sternly, when Claresta scratched at the library door.

"My lord," she curtseyed. "I’m most sorry for the delay, but I was in the middle of dressing when you summoned me down."

She was lying, Drake thought. He wondered if Claresta knew her left eye twitched when she told an untruth. He’d first noticed it when he dined with her in London and she told the cock-and-bull story about her cousin managing her import business. Only he hadn’t known then the cause of the slight tick. The phenomenon seemed to confirm her guilt?

She had not come to Norwood Manor simply to console a sick friend, nor to become better acquainted with an arthritic old lady. No, her motives had been to trick him into matrimony. And he’d fallen for her trap, hook, line and sinker yesterday at the lake. He’d compromised her well and good in front of witnesses. Of course, she hadn’t ask him to kiss her like a madman in front of Lord Westhaven, nor had she asked him to ride her home on his lap. The disarrayed mess she’d been in when presenting herself in front of the Chelsworths had been the worst. Torn dress, no petticoat, her gown drenched to the point of outlining the dark nipples of her firm breasts. The memory sent a quake to his lower regions, and it took all he could do to keep from groaning aloud.

He’d smoothed things over well enough with the Chelsworths’. At least, Lady Chelsworth hadn’t thought him too insufferable, for she continued to throw her daughter into his way at every turn. The lady hinted at the tale being spread to here and sunder by the time he returned to London. The girl would make a presentable wife, more so than Claresta, if all he’d learned this day were to be believed. He thought of the vague understanding he’d had with Miss Richardson back in America. He hadn’t actually committed himself to the girl, had he? But he thought a long letter of explanation, however, would be due.

Then he’d found the papers Claresta had left in the library desk, and Drake made a quick decision. His fate was sealed. As was Claresta Huntington’s. Drake almost grinned.

He rattled the papers he held and said impatiently, "Sit down, Miss Huntington, we have much to discuss."

Her face turned a crimson shade when she looked down at the damning papers. Drake had found them quite by accident when he’d searched the desk drawer for foolscap. After talking to Westhaven earlier, he’d decided to send a missive to London. Given the direct query, Westhaven seemed anxious to relate other accidents Claresta somehow seemed involved. That her former suitors were the only ones to suffer, seemed like a fluke to Drake. Because she’d been in their company each time an incident occurred, he became concerned that she may be in danger, as well.

The Black Eagle should have returned to London by now with his new identification papers. Drake would enlist Captain Mercer’s aid in protecting Miss Huntington, but with his own money readily available, he would be able to pay for Bow Street Runners. He’d already instructed Rutherford to inquire about hiring them.

"I would like to explain that," the lady said pointing at the marriage settlement Drake had clutched in his hand. She fumbled nervously for something in her skirt pocket.

"That won’t be necessary, Miss Huntington. Mr. Thurmond has already explained everything."

"Had to be done, my gel, what?"

Claresta swung around and saw the portly man sitting on the sofa before the hearth. He stood and held up his hands in denial of his betrayal. "’Twas the best thing, what? His lordship wanted to understand the legalities and such. His right, don’t you know. Can’t ask a man to put his signature to as complicated a contract as this, otherwise."

Drake held up the settlement papers in front of him and said, "I’ve taken the liberty of filling in the trustee for you."

"What!" Claresta snatched the paper from his hands and scanned it. "B-But, you can’t be my trustee."

"Oh, but I can. Quite legal, is it not, Thurmond?"

"’Tis the best way of it, as I see," the solicitor said in sheepish agreement. "Edwin is not of age as yet, Claresta, and goodness knows Lord Westhaven is not to be trusted to keep your holdings in tact. As for myself . . ." he shrugged, "I’m getting old and forgetful. You need someone with a sharp mind to tend to things for you."

I can tend to my own things, Claresta thought bitterly. But she could not say so, it might ruin her chances with Lord Norwood. Thurmond could just draw up another paper, a codicil. No, that was for a will. "I have not agreed to this."

"Is that not your signature next to mine?" Drake asked.

The paper shook in her trembling hands as she looked down at the damning signatures. She should have been more careful, she thought. She’d prematurely signed the article, thinking she would be in control of filling in the blanks when the time came to present her proposal.

Drake smiled in spite of his pique at the lady’s wily ruse. But he couldn’t stay angry with her for long. He’d come to terms with the situation somewhat during the last few moments, and he realized he’d been arse over teakettle for Claresta from the moment he set eyes on her. If she’d but told him her circumstances from the start, he might have come to her rescue without any coercion on her part. But he would rather be trapped in a dinghy on a stormy sea than admit it to her now.

A man must maintain some semblance of mastering his feelings. She only wanted to salvage her inheritance, and, his pride at stake, he would only allow her to believe that he wished the marriage so he could get her money.

"I promise not to usurp your cousin of his position in Gilbert & Huntington," he said condescendingly, already knowing Edwin’s exalted position of manager, too, was a ruse. More firmly, he added, "unless, of course, the profits should begin to decline without significant justification, then I would naturally see it as my duty to intervene."

Claresta sputtered, but no recognizable words came out of her mouth.

"Come now, my dear," Thurmond said, "his lordship could not be fairer than that, what?"

Seeing the look of defeat on his lady’s face, Drake was becoming apprehensive until he saw the color slowly flare along her slender neck. She turned vehemently on her solicitor.

"Fair? Fair? You have the audacity to call this fair. My own solicitor, my grandfather’s best friend, going behind my back and. . .and . . ."

"Now, now, my dear--"

"Don’t you now, now me, you old pettifogger. Why I ought to have you brought before the magistrate for, for disloyalty, that’s what."

"That’s enough, Claresta."

She swung back around, ready to give Lord Norwood a set-down as well, but the piercing look of disapproval made Claresta clamp her mouth shut on another nasty retort. Then his gaze softened, as if he understood the betrayal she felt.

She didn’t want his sympathy. She wanted, she wanted . . . She didn’t know what, but certainly not pity. But was it pity? she wondered, when his firm lips lifted into a breathtaking smile, and his eyes turned the deeper shade of blue she remembered from yesterday when he’d kissed her by the lake.

"Mr. Thurmond, as you can see my fiancée is quite overcome by her good fortune."

"Good fortune!" Her moment of repose was shattered. "Is it my good fortune to be shackled to a, a--"

"Parvenu? Is that the word you are seeking, Miss Huntington." Drake’s smile belied his distaste for the label. "If you would excuse us, Thurmond, Miss Huntington and I have a few details to work out between us."

"Certainly, certainly," Thurmond coughed and harrumphed a couple of times and asked before taking his leave, "Is that all right with you, my dear?"

Claresta threw the papers upon the desk. "It seems my permission is not needed, sir, now that your services are my . . . my fiancé’s," she almost choked on the word, "and not mine to command."

Drake’s smile thinned. "Thank you, Mr. Thurmond. I shall call upon you if you’re needed again."

The shutting of the door, though done quietly, seemed to ring hollowly for long moments after the solicitor’s departure. Claresta walked to the window and seemed to be occupied by something in the distance.

"We must discuss our plans, love." From the glacial looks she cast him when she turned around, Drake wondered why he’d failed to turn to ice. Instead he felt warm, even warmer than he’d felt yesterday with her seated on his lap during the bumpy carriage ride home.

"I am not your love."

He walked around the desk and leaned against it. "Come here," he said and crooked his finger.

"What do you want of me?" she asked, a slight crumbling in her tone. But, considerably out of charity with him, her posture remained rigid.

"Your obedience," he said teasingly.

"You . . ." she lifted her chin haughtily. "You have no right to demand obedience until after the ceremony, sir."

He felt enormous relief. She was going to accept his marriage proposal. He almost laughed aloud at that definition of the avowals set to paper. He wondered what her reaction would be if he had expressed his true feelings on the matter in a more romantic setting. He sighed. "Then, I shall endeavor to play the besotted swain until our wedding day. I beg you, love, come closer."

Strangely Claresta found herself obeying his seductive command. She was near enough she could feel the heat of him before he stopped motioning her forward. Her tightly drawn posture began to slacken against her will. She lifted her chin and asked tautly once more, "What is it you wish of me, my lord?"

"First, you are to call me Drake. Say it," he commanded and leaned forward until their lips almost touched.

Claresta closed her eyes. She could feel his warm breath brushing her face when he repeated the command.

"Say it."

"Drake," she whispered. She waited, and when he did not kiss her as she expected, she opened her eyes. He was so near that her eyes crossed when she tried to focus on his firm, smiling lips, so she closed them again. Irritably, she asked, "Well, are you going to kiss me?"

Her bluntness was almost Drake’s undoing. Fearing he would frighten her, he’d been trying to quiet the tempest that was gathering inside him before he touched her. "Do you mind?"

"It is your right, is it not?" Though her words were impertinent, her tone had softened.

Drake chuckled. He slid his arms around her. "It is my right," he said and touched her lips as gently as his raging hunger for her would allow.

He devoured her.

As her arms circled his neck like an encroaching vine, his tongue wound erotically around hers. He tried to regain some semblance of calm. Breathing in her lavender scent made it very difficult to think logically. His hands moved restlessly along her muslin-covered back and wandered down to the soft roundness of her hips. He squeezed those soft cheeks lightly and moaned with pleasure when she burrowed her hips deeper against his rock hard length.

Claresta felt a weakness around her knees . . . no, it was in her legs, or maybe . . . yes, definitely a sluggish feeling had suddenly enveloped her entire body. A purring sound rumbled forth, and she realized she’d made it. She had never dreamed a kiss could make one feel so out of sorts. Her body seemed to move of its own accord, as if she were made to fit against Drake’s perfect hard planes. One plane jutting from between his legs seemed much harder than the rest. He pushed it against her stomach, and she undulated her hips to adjust.

Suddenly he burst away from her. His breathing was so short and raspy, she wondered if he were having an attack of apoplexy. But her own breathing was not exactly stable. She clamped her hand over her thumping chest.

He swore softly. "I apologize, Claresta. I never intended for things to get so out of hand."

"Oh," she said for lack of a better response. When he stepped away from her, she felt as if she’d been left to fend for herself on a deserted island.

"Perhaps, it’d be best if you went up to your room and packed now. We’ll leave first thing in the morning for London."

"London?" She regained her voice. The man ordered her about like a general to one of his troops.

"You must shop for a wedding dress and other necessities, I assume. It has been my experience that ladies enjoy purchasing various gewgaws for a special occasion. Besides, Thurmond said, you must be married within four weeks to retain your inheritance," Drake said. "It will take three for the banns to be read."

"Oh, yes." The inheritance had briefly slipped Claresta’s mind, but obviously Drake had not forgotten for even a moment. "It is important to you, isn’t it?"

"To you, too, Claresta. Else you would not have been so anxious to snare me, would you?"

Claresta would liked to have snared him for many other reasons, but he would never have given her a second thought if not for her money. That was all the marriage meant to him. She felt hurt and betrayed, yet she could not fault him, for she, too, had been willing to use him to her own ends.

But, suddenly her inheritance seemed to be less important to her than before. If Drake Lockwood, Earl of Norwood, had asked her a moment ago to live with him in a hovel, she knew she would have agreed to do it. For the first time in her life Claresta knew how it felt to be in love. It was a secret she would take to her grave.

Her poise once more in place, she said, "You are absolutely right, my lord. I shall have Lizette begin packing immediately."

"One thing more," he said as she turned to leave. "I will expect my wife to conduct herself in a more refined manner than you did yesterday. A boat is not the proper place to perform one of your spirited antics."

Spirited antics? How could she possibly have been so daftheaded as to think herself in love with this pompous being. She had a strong urge to show him just how spirited her antics could become, wishing nothing better than to settle him a facer at the moment. She saw the twitching of his lips, and the amused gleam in his unsettling blue eyes. Drat the man, she’d get the better of him by not losing her temper, but it was extremely difficult.

"Yes, my lord. You are quite right, my lord. I shall act demure and unassuming from this day forward, my lord. Is there anything else you wish of me, my lord?"

He turned and walked slowly toward the window. His attention remained for a long moment on the outdoors then he spoke as if the words were forced from him. "My mother drowned, you know."

Everything became instantly clear to Claresta. He’d been reminded yesterday of the mishap that took his mother’s life. She didn’t think there was any point in telling him she’d never been in any real danger, he would never believe her now, especially after she played the invalid on the ride home. Claresta took a step toward Drake, feeling a strong desire to comfort him for his loss, but his back became so stiff and erect when he heard her approaching him that she knew instinctively he would reject any show of sympathy.

Then, the moment of awkwardness left him, and he turned around with that devilish smile of his. "One more request before you go."

"Request, my lord?" Claresta said wryly.

"As you wish, my dear. A directive, it shall be. You are to call me by my Christian name, as I already asked you, or face the consequences."

She gave him a condescending smile and sallied toward the door. There she turned, bowed her head and curtsied in a servile manner. "As you wish, my . . .

When she glanced up and saw the cloud of darkness enter the earl’s gaze, she thought better of teasing him further.

"I have already picked out the material for my dress. A shade that would go well with my father’s sapphire stickpin." And your eyes, she almost added. "As for gewgaws, I think a gentleman of Quality should pay just as much attention to the proper attire as a lady, should he not? I hope you will do me the honor of making that selection and any other you wish from my father’s jewelry to wear at the wedding ceremony."

"Certainly, love. Have Douglas bring it round to the house in Cheyne Walk beforehand."

A puzzled frown furrowed Claresta’s brow. "But you already have the case, sir."

Drake’s expression reflected a moment of bewilderment, then as comprehension seemed to settle in his jaw tightened as he asked, "If you will recall, Claresta, I returned the case to you the night of the dinner. Are you saying that it is missing?"

Claresta tried to think whether the case was there after Drake left that night, but could not recall, Reggie had rushed her out of the room so quickly. If Drake did not take the case-- and why should he lie now that the jewelry would become his by rights anyway--then there was only two other persons present at the time that could have removed it from the premises. Mr. Thurmond and Reggie.

It didn’t take long for her to figure out which. "One of the servants may have put it away without telling me. I am certain it shall turn up in good time."

She left the room, determined to confront her cousin about the missing case. Knowing Reggie’s inclination for the cards, she only hoped it was not too late.

* * *

Claresta found Reggie taking nuncheon in the dining room. With Aunt Ester, Lady Norwood, and Mr. Thurmond in attendance she could not very well broach the subject of his thievery. She assumed Drake decided to have his meal in the library with Mr. Rutherford, whom she saw pacing the anteroom, waiting for his turn with his lordship as she walked out.

As she was about to ask Reggie to take a turn in the garden with her later, Douglas threw open the double doors and announced Dr. Adams.

Claresta quickly changed her mind. After all, she could interview her cousin anytime, but this may be her last chance to talk with Dr. Adams about the expectations for a wife. The subject he embarked upon gave her the perfect opportunity to speak with him alone.

"The place is taking on a look of human habitation, Lady Norwood. I swear one doesn’t even have to break a path to the door anymore."

Lady Norwood chortled at the doctor’s jest. "‘Tis true. The LeClair boy has done wonders with the landscape since your last visit."

"You should see the garden, it is truly taking shape under his skilled hands," Claresta said.

"I’d be delighted to take a look as long as I have your lovely company in the process," Dr. Adams replied.

"Shouldn’t you be on your way to the Childers’ place, sir? She is very near her term from what I hear," a disagreeable voice said from the doorway.

"Ah, the patient is definitely on the mend, it seems," Dr. Adams said, giving Drake a look from head to toe. When Drake continued to give him the glare, the doctor chuckled and said, "As it so happens, I just spent a long night with Mrs. Childers. She delivered triplets just before dawn."

"Triplets!" Lady Westhaven retrieved her vinaigrette and took a deep sniff.

"‘Tis a wonder the poor thing survived," Lady Norwood said.

Claresta placed a shaky hand on Dr. Adams’ sleeve. "You didn’t say, did-did she survive?"

"Indeed, and all three of the girls, as well." He squeezed Claresta’s hand, but dropped it quickly when he saw the feral gleam in Norwood’s eyes.

"Rotten luck." Reggie said. "Girls can not be much use to a farmer."

"Perhaps not a boom to the farmer, but I’m certain the farmer’s wife considers it quite a blessing, especially one who’s already given her husband five strapping lads to help him in the fields," Drake said.

How many men would consider the birth of daughters a godsend for anyone? Claresta looked up and smiled at Drake. The tenseness in his jaw dissolved before her eyes. What an enigma, she thought, so strong and forceful one moment and gentle and caring the next. At least, it was plain he kept abreast of his tenants’ needs. "Will you join us, my lord?"

Drake’s jaw renewed its ticking motion, and she wondered if it were because she’d not addressed him as per his final instructions.

"We are about finished," Lady Norwood said, "but please do sit down, Norwood, and Douglas will fill you a plate."

"Thank you, madam, but I only came in to request something be sent to the library."

"Should think that’s what a bell pull is for," Reggie mumbled facetiously as he delicately dabbed the corner of his lips with his napkin.

"No need for you to see me before you leave, Doctor." With that remark, Drake spun around and left.

"Well, I cannot say, even if one would expect it from an American, I’ve ever witnessed such rude behavior from Lord Norwood," Lady Westhaven said.

"He has a lot on his mind," Claresta defended, which brought a titter from Lady Norwood.

"Don’t we all," Reggie uttered with a sigh.

Claresta would have remarked on that comment, except Dr. Adams said, "We can take that walk in the garden now, Miss Huntington, if you are finished."

* * *

Drake tried to concentrate on what Rutherford was saying, but he kept pacing to the window that looked out over the garden. Claresta was supposed to be showing Adams the garden, but thus far they’d spent most of their time sitting on the bench conversing. When Adams took her gloved hand in his, Drake wanted to go down and tear the man away from her. Although, the gesture didn’t seem lover-like. Perhaps it was the fact she laughed so often around the man that irritated Drake. If he had not stepped in and signed the papers, would she have taken her proposition to Adams? The thought did not set well with him.

He watched their heads bowed together as if in intimate conversation, almost touching, they were. Did she not realize it was unseemly to spend so much time with another gentleman now that she was betrothed to him? She should have a chaperone that took more notice of her independent ways. When he realized that Rutherford was waiting for a response from him, he turned and asked, "I’m sorry, sir, what were you saying?"

"Would you like to continue this another day, my lord? I can see that your thoughts are elsewhere."

"Perhaps you’re right. Let’s get back to the progress you’ve made finding Runners to watch Gilbert House upon Miss Huntington’s return."

"As I explained," Rutherford said, wondering why his lordship needed the explanation repeated, "I sent word by mail coach yesterday to the agency dealing in these matters and received word back this morning. Two men should be in place within the next day or so."

"That’s not good enough. I want someone there immediately upon her return, watching her night and day. And only two men could hardly do an adequate job of it."

"Well, sir. I can only think it best to hire a few of the village lads hereabouts to take along with you. If the lady questions your motives, you could use Lady Norwood’s fear of highwaymen as the reason for using more outriders."

"Excellent idea, Rutherford. Will you see to it?"

"Right away, sir," he said, but his lordship was once again staring out the window.

* * *

Hours after Lizette left her room Claresta paced the floor. In just a few more weeks she would be a married woman. She’d been too embarrassed to ask Dr. Adams to go into full detail about the marriage bed. And once he’d gotten into the discussion of child-birthing methods she’d found the subject much more fascinating. She regretted there had not been such a dedicated doctor around when her mother had needed one. She’d made Dr. Adams promise he’d attend her if ever she became enceinte.

She had to believe that Drake would want to produce an heir as soon as possible. Most noblemen expected their wives to produce at least one male descendant. But what if her firstborn were a girl? They would have to try again then, wouldn’t they? The prospect of making love to Drake time after time sent a delicious shiver up and down her spine.

She ventured into the dressing room that connected with Drake’s room. A light glowed at the base of the threshold. Surely her concerns about the number of children they should have was something one should discuss before the wedding ceremony? As she lifted her hand to knock, the door flew open, and she stumbled backward.

Drake caught and steadied her. Even after he’d released her, Claresta continued to feel his strong hands warming the places on her arms where he’d touched. She rubbed her arms and stepped back another few paces. He followed and soon she was standing in the middle of her bedroom.

Robed in his dressing gown, he leaned against the door frame and asked, "Having trouble sleeping, Claresta?"

"Y-Yes. I am a bit restless tonight."

"Perhaps you took too much fresh air today."

"Fresh air?"

She was perplexed about his meaning until he said, "You and Dr. Adams spent a long time admiring the gardens. I shouldn’t think there was that much to see as LeClair has just set out a few bulbs and seedlings thus far."

Claresta’s gaze shot up to meet Drake’s. Her heart began to thrum inside her chest. Did a glimmer of jealousy shine behind that cold steely look of his? The thought made her almost giddy. She’d never before found possessiveness a worthwhile trait in a man. Did being betrothed change one’s outlook on such matters?

"What did you two talk about?"

His tone was beginning to prickle her senses with irritation, but Claresta saw no reason not to tell him. In fact, it was along the lines of what she’d wished to discuss with him anyway. "We were discussing expectations of a new bride."

Her forthrightness didn’t seem to shock Drake as much as she’d expected. He stepped closer and skimmed her cheek with the back of his hand, then he lifted her chin until their eyes met. "I do hope he left some of the more intimate instruction for your future husband."

"Dr. Adams’ had several patients to see before sundown. I’m afraid he did not have the time to go into the particulars of how one becomes with child."

Drake threw back his head and laughed. "I must send thanks to the sick and infirm of the district."

Claresta slapped his hand away. "That is disgusting."

He pulled her to him and brushed his lips gently across hers. Claresta thought she could not pull away from him should her life depend upon it.

"Do you find it so disgusting, my love, that I wish to be the one to introduce my wife to the proceedings of the marriage bed? Do you?" he whispered against her lips when she did not answer.

"N-no, my lord. " Her legs had become jelly, and she had to cling to the lapels of his dressing gown for stability.

"Good," he said. "Should I start your first lesson tonight, love, or would you rather wait until our wedding night."

"D-Do you not think it always best one is prepared to know what is expected?"

"Precisely. And you will inform me of your expectations as well."

"My expectations?"

"Did you think only the man gets to have a say in these matters?"

"Well, Nan told me a little. She never mentioned exactly how the man took part, but she said all a woman needed do was lie still and think of England."

He chuckled. "Do either, if you think you can, Claresta."

Then he kissed her again. This time his tongue pushed between her lips and swirled a probing path inside her mouth. Even the kiss in the library had not been this intimate, this devouring, and finally her knees gave way completely. She felt herself being lifted and dumped upon the feather bed. He came down on top of her, and the pressure of his body against hers felt very nice. All the time he kept kissing her. And try as she might she couldn’t think of England or anything else, outside of her nipples that tingled where they rubbed against his warm, hard flesh.

His dressing gown had parted, and she slid her hands beneath and over his bare shoulders, and pulled him closer. She wanted to increase the contact.

Drake must have read her mind for he began snatching at the ribbons at the top of her gown. Soon she was bare to the waist, but he did not press against her again as she’d hoped he would. Instead he cupped her round globes of flesh and squeezed. She was shocked by the pleasure, so intense, so disturbing that it caused her to raise her hips into the hard ridge that pressed against her stomach.

Drake sucked in his breath. "Easy, sweeting." He lifted himself away, removed her gown and tossed it to the floor. For a long moment his eyes lingered on the patch of strawberry curls at the juncture of her legs. "My god, you are beautiful."

She felt the heat rise in that area, but then she remembered something Nan had once told her. "It is true, then, that a man only wants what’s between a gel’s legs."

Drake again moved over her, keeping his full weight off by bracing himself on his elbows. "Well, I can only speak for myself, but I kind of like the whole package."

He leaned down and suckled at one of her breasts.

Claresta had never felt anything so tantalizing. It was as if she felt the pulling sensation all the way down to that very same place in recent question. He lifted his head and asked, "Are you thinking of England now, love?"

"W-What?" she whispered and arched upward when he gave her other breast equal attention.

"Just as I thought." He slid one hand along her stomach, curling his palm over her mound in a most intimate gesture. "I do declare, Claresta, you are not lying still, either."

She was mortified to realize her hips undulated against his probing fingers. And she was getting so wet, she must be disgusting him. But, he didn’t seem to notice, and when she tried to stop her hip from rotating, he increased the pressure, moving further into her wet passage. There seemed little she could do to stop herself from bucking to meet his titillating touch. "Drake, I can’t . . . please . . ."

"Shhhh. Just let yourself enjoy the feel it, darling. You feel so good. Claresta, I want you so much. I want to be inside you, just like this, moving in and out of your tight, hot walls of softness."

Something suddenly burst inside her. She clung to Drake’s hand, pushing up each time the rippling explosions raked her body. Finally, the fog of pleasure began to dissipate, and she realized Drake was trying to remove his hand, but she had it trapped tightly between her thighs. She quickly released him.

"Oh God," he said and dropped to her side, covering his eyes with his forearm.

She felt a loss for words. She reached out to touch him, and he suddenly bolted from the bed. For the first time she realized that while she’d lain stark naked before him, he’d not removed a stitch. Not that he seemed to notice her nakedness any longer, for he did not turn around as he headed for his own room.

"I must say, Claresta, for a first lesson, you met all my expectations," he said and slammed the door behind him.

Claresta, not one to remain docile for long, jumped from the bed, pulled her dressing gown about her and pounded on his door.

He jerked the door open, and she was surprised at the satisfied smirk that spread across his face. "Next time, my lord. I think it only fair my expectations should be addressed."

"Agreed," he said, disarming her with a grin. "Now say, ‘goodnight, Drake’."

Somehow she wasn’t surprised he’d caught her deliberate use of his title before. Well, there was no reason she couldn’t concede on that one point. She turned on her heels and mumbled, "Goodnight, Drake."

* * *

Drake lay stretched out on his bed, starring blankly into the darkness. He’d walked into Claresta’s room tonight with nothing more in mind than to prove something to himself. Prove something to her, really. The woman had had her way for much too long, and it was about time someone showed her that it was the man who was supposed to be in control. Well, he’d shown her, hadn’t he? While she was all sated and satisfied and resting peacefully, he lay here hours later still drawn tight as a bowstring.

He laughed at his own stubbornness and thought of her last words to him. He couldn’t wait to find out what Claresta’s expectations of him would be.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gilbert House was at sixes and sevens after Claresta’s return. Drake informed her by messenger their announcement was to be published in the Morning Post the following day, and the servants were busily planning for the eventful day. The gentleman certainly didn’t waste time once a decision was made and so she should not, either.

He’d tricked her by filling in the trustee without her approval, but somehow, now that she knew how capable the man was, she didn’t feel too uncomfortable having him in charge of her affairs. And Norwood did not act the fool. After they were married and he became aware of the full extent of her expertise and involvement with Gilbert and Huntington, then surely he would let her have some say in the way things were handled. For now she’d concentrate on getting through one day at a time.

Claresta sent for a seamstress, then dispatched Douglas to retrieve the blue material from the warehouse and inform Edwin of her return.

Edwin arrived along with the material and gave her some bad news. "Someone set fire to the indigo, but the damage is minimal. It happened during the night. I was working late in the office and did not hear a thing. Martin smelled the smoke and doused the flames, possibly saving the entire business from going up in flames."

Claresta was stunned. She shuddered to think what may have happened if he had not awakened at all. "Maybe it is not such a good idea for Martin to have sleeping quarters in the loft. And really, Edwin, you should know better than to remain in that area so late at night."

"Could not be helped, what with you gone and the paperwork continually piling up."

Claresta winced. She should have hired more clerical help long ago. "You should have left it for me," she said guiltily.

Edwin paid no heed to her comment, seeming intent on recalling the disaster. "I tell you, Cousin, I never knew the large man could move so quickly. Of course, it would have been better had Martin awakened in time to scare the evildoers away when they first entered the building."

"You don’t think it could have been an accident, then?"

"I found a tinderbox. I suspect it was discarded in their rush to escape capture. The culprits may only have been children out for some mischief. Certainly no one of a right mind would know the danger of such an act after the last London disaster. In any event, there was a shout that brought Martin around in time to douse the fire before it got out of hand."

"Why would someone set a fire, then give a warning?"

Edwin shrugged. "’Tis strange indeed. But, just so, I think we should hire a night watchman to keep an eye on things after hours. At least, for a few weeks."

For a moment Claresta simply stared at Edwin, then uneasily she asked, "You think this might be related to what happened to Lord Ainsworth and Wheaton?"

"Your reckless and clumsy suitors? Ainsworth drove a spanking pace with those bloods of his. Could have overturned his high-flyer into a ditch many a time and didn’t."

"He said a black cat came sailing into the street from nowhere."

"Half seas over, wasn’t he? Nearly drank himself under on a bet with Lord Ridly. Fool. Everyone knows Ridly can hold more port than the Thames holds water. I believe that’s why you refused the invitation he extended to go riding with him that afternoon?"

Claresta sighed. "True. But what of Wheaton? He swore someone pushed him down the stairway at Haymarket."

"Wheaton is so rib-ticklish and top-heavy, he wouldn’t know a push from a nudge. I once saw him topple flat on his face while doing the pretty in front of Lady Emmeline last season. You are just lucky to have caught yourself on the banister when he plowed into you."

Claresta noticed Edwin didn’t deny or confirm her suspicions, just gave reasonable explanations for the mishaps being accidental. She half wished there were a more forthright answer to the events. Three accidental or natural disasters within the time of her association with the gentlemen gave credence to the ton’s belief that she was a jinx.

Her thinking had been so clouded of late, could she be grasping for a tangible way to place blame for the things that had occurred in her life? "I agree about the watchman, but make it two. One in front and in the rear. That way the chances of someone sneaking in will be lessened."

"Done. Now what do I hear of a marriage? You look quite pleased with yourself, radiant even, I would say. I presume Norwood agreed to your terms."

"It is true. The wedding will take place as soon as the banns are posted." The smile on Claresta’s face disappeared. "There is but one hitch." Two, she thought, but there seemed no point to complaining about the man’s trickery. "I don’t think Lord Norwood knows yet of my lack of standing with Society. On the drive home, he said his family is due to arrive in a few weeks, and his step-mother plans to fire his sister off when the Season begins. How shall I tell him I’ll be unable to sponsor his sister’s come out? I have misled him terribly, Edwin."

"For which he shall be compensated generously."

She sighed, and Edwin lifted a brow in concern. "Do not say you have developed tender feelings for the American?"

"Of course, not," Claresta said crisply and dismissed the doubts that had been plaguing her since that one glorious night Drake had come to her bed. "You are right, of course. And why should I be concerned?" She paced to and fro and bit into her lower lip. She’d always prided herself on being a very straightforward person. To carry on the deception for any length of time would, no doubt, start eating on her conscience. "His relatives are not due to arrive for another month. By then, we’ll be married."

Edwin wisely did not comment, but returned to the problems she could do something about. "I supposed you’d like to inspect the fire damage for yourself, so I told Douglas to have your carriage brought round."

"Hmmmm, oh yes. Thank you, Edwin. You must have read my mind." Indeed, if he could do such a thing, she thought, he’d realize she was falling in love with her soon-to-be husband.

* * *

Things were not to go as smoothly as Claresta had predicted. The Lockwoods, mother and daughter arrived in Cheyne Walk that very morning. Drake was happy that his family would be present to witness the nuptials. As soon as Druscilla and Franny were settled in their rooms, he rushed to share the good news with his betrothed.

At Gilbert House, Juny, having finished her morning chores in the kitchen went to clean the library. Miss Huntington spent a good deal of time in there, and Juny liked to keep things nice and tidy for the lady who’d given her and her brother the first secure home they’d ever known.

She finished her tasks and was making her exit when Douglas opened the front door to Lord Norwood. She hurried toward the stairs, hoping he would not spot her, but it was already too late.

"Hey, you there!" he yelled.

"M-Me, Sir?" Juny knew good and well who he was talking to, and she’d dreaded the moment ever since she learned Miss Huntington and Lord Norwood were betrothed. She’d come to enjoy the security of working at Gilbert House and now all could be lost because of what she’d done. She’d almost forgotten her reasons for coming here to begin with had been to find Lord Norwood. Her brother had been so ill, she would have gladly ransomed the gentleman’s papers to see to Charlie’s care.

"Juny Farell, is it not?" he asked with a heavy scowl on his face.

Douglas stepped aside with a puzzled frown. Juny knew, should she be dismissed, the fellow wouldn’t look forward to returning to kitchen duty himself. But she never expected him to recommend her to Lord Norwood whom he’d had nothing but praise for since his return from the country.

"’Tis no ‘arder worker ‘bout than our Miss Juny, yore lordship. Now that Cook’s done used to havin' her 'bout, she’d be riot lost without her, oim sure she would."

Juny gloried in Douglas’s praise, but she doubted he would be defending her if he knew she were a thief. Well, as Charlie would say, ‘we be what we be.’

"Is there aah problem, m’lordship?" Douglas asked.

Juny would be embarrassed beyond all to have her past indiscretions revealed in front of another servant. The gentleman seemed to take pity on her when he said, "Leave us, Douglas. I need to have a word with the young lady alone."

After the footman left, Juny put on a outward show of bravado. Years of life on the streets had taught her to show defiance no matter how much her insides shook with fear. She stood ramrod straight and lifted her chin. "You well know who I am, sir."

"Aye, and you well know what you stole from me," Drake mocked, "and I want it back."

"The money’s all gone, your lordship. Stolen from me own sick bed by Eddy Sharps," she said flippantly.

"Eddy Sharps?"

"The owner of the flashhouse where me an’ Charlie put down for a spell. Eddy didn’ take to having sick ‘uns lying about when we shoulda been bungnipping coves. Said we owed it to ‘em for our keep, he did, when he found our money hid under Charlie’s bedding."

"My money," Drake corrected.

Juny actually felt a flush rise in her cheeks. Blushing was something she’d forgotten was possible during the tormenting years she and Charlie had spent living from hand to mouth. She owed Miss Huntington a good deal for taking them in and giving them work. But she’d heard the talk about her mistress and Lord Norwood getting ready to splice. When they wed, Juny feared she and Charlie would be on their own again. It appeared their dismissal would be sooner than that.

"Your money, ‘tis a fact, sir." When she saw a spark of sympathy in the earl’s eyes, she decided to make one plea for redemption. "If you allow me and Charlie to keep working here at Gilbert House, I can get the ready back to ye in no time a’tall."

"The ready?"

"Your money, sir?"

"Ahh, the money." Lord Norwood’s voice thawed. "Where is your brother, child?"

Juny’s eyes widened with renewed fear. Most of the Quality didn’t take well to being fleeced. Would the gentleman call the magistrate as soon as he had them both in sight? If she lied to him, he’d summon Douglas and find out anyway. "He’s above stairs starting the fires. He’s still weak from having the measles," she lied. "Surely you wouldn’ send a sickly child to the dungeons of Newgate."

Juny had seen what that hellhole was like when she visited her father there once. She didn’t think she could survive such, and surely Charlie couldn’t. "Please, sir. I’ll work even harder than what Douglas says I do. I’ll pay back every cent, I will. I--"

"Enough!" He ordered, then waved his hand in dismissal. "We’ll speak of restitution later. Where are the papers you took?"

"The papers? Oh . . ." Juny could see that the papers were even more important than she’d first assumed. She had something to bargain with and felt better for it. She touched her forehead and pondered, "Now where’d I put ‘em?"

All humbleness had disappeared from her speech. The gentleman didn’t appear to be all that surprised that she couldn’t remember where she’d mislaid his property. In fact, his lips twitched as if he were a bit amused by the whole thing. "How much will it cost me for your memory to return?"

This was her last opportunity to bargain for her and Charlie’s future, and Juny intended to make the best of it. "Well, Miss Huntington--she’s a kind lady, the kindest I ever knew--she gave us positions when me an’ Charlie had no where else to go. But I don’t rightly know if she’d take too kindly to having a former thief under her roof. If you could find it in your heart to keep our secret, I’d be beholden, sir."

"Beholden enough to return my property?"

The man seemed too amused to be serious. So she needed reassurance. "Do I have your word, sir?"

"I cannot promise such a thing, for I do not like deceit in any form. But I can give you my word to find you another position should Miss Huntington decide to turn you out, which knowing first hand of her generous nature, I doubt she would do. Now let’s haggle no longer, shall we."

Juny knew that was the best she was going to get. She sidled toward the stairs. "I’ll go get ‘em."

"I think I will just come along and say hello to Charlie," Lord Norwood said, as if he didn’t trust her. She could duck down the servants’ stairs or, drop out a window and be out of sight before he could catch her. But she couldn’t find Charlie in time and do that with his lordship tagging at her heels.

"As you wish, my lord," Juny said with a sniffle and led the way into the library. The one thing she hadn’t tried yet was tears. Most coves turned and ran at the first sight of a blubbering miss.

"How did you come to be here?" Drake asked as Juny ran her finger along a row of books just above her head. Franny had used the dry-tear sniffles on him enough times that he knew to pay no attention to Juny’s. And right now, his mind was more on just how far Claresta had gone to snare him.

When the girl came to a gilt edged book of poems by Robert Burns, she took it from the shelf, flipped it open and removed the papers she’d stolen. "There, your lordship. Everything is as it should be."

Not everything as it should be, he thought. Did his future fiancée know the proof of his identity was hidden away in her library? Drake took the papers and unfolded them. They were crinkled and smudged, but everything seemed to be in order. "Very well," he said. "You can inform your mistress, Miss Huntington, that I wish to see her now."

"She ain’t here," Juny said with a sniff and this time a real tear slid down her cheek.

Drake felt guilty for causing the girl to cry. His mistake was comparing her to his sister who’d never had a reason to cry her whole life. "Dry your tears, girl, I’m not such an ogre that I would send children to prison, if that’s what’s worrying you." Still he didn’t want to go too soft on the girl. She might get the idea she could revert to her former ways without consequences. "Be warned, though, I don’t go lightly with thieves, so you better watch your step from now on."

"Oh, thank you, sir. You can be sure me and Charlie are on the straight and narrow now that we got honest wages at Gilbert House."

"Well, then if Cla--Miss Huntington is not about, I should be on my way." Drake wanted to inform Claresta of his family’s arrival before he went by Denton’s office to legally lay claim to his inheritance. As soon as Druscilla learned of his betrothal, she’d demanded to meet his fiancée, and he’d assured her Claresta would be present at dinner this evening.

Drake tapped the papers against his palm. He needed to have a few words with Miss Huntington, as well. This duplicity of hers had to end. "I don’t suppose you know where your mistress is off to?"

Juny swiped the tears away and bestowed on him a broad smile. No doubt, she’d now divulge the secrets of the Egyptian pyramids, if Drake asked it of her and it were in her power to do so. "Mr. Edwin came by for her early. I think he took her to the warehouse."

Drake thought Claresta would be thoroughly occupied with wedding plans, not off at the docks this early after their return, but he did not show his surprise as he said, "Very well, then. When she returns, inform her we’re to dine at my residence this evening, and I’ll pick her up around seven."

* * *

Curiosity won out, and Drake went by the warehouse to see what was so important that it demanded Claresta’s attention. A strong scent hung about the inside of the warehouse as he stepped through the large double doors. He found no one about and made his way around crates of merchandise until he came upon a small office to the rear. An even stronger odor filled the office, but it had a tart sting to it that brought tears to the eyes. He found the source of discomfort in an uncovered cask inside the desk drawer that had been left open. He picked up the cask and replaced the lid. As he started to put it back he noticed the message that had lain beneath it. He recognized his own handwriting, and the missive he’d left at the hotel for Captain Mercer. He picked it up and noted the seal had been broken. "Why, the manipulative little minx."

He slammed the drawer shut and with the billet crushed in his fist, he went looking for his fiancée.

* * *

Claresta assessed the fire damage to several crates of ginger. Thankfully, Martin had smelled the smoke and put out the flames before they reached some nearby containers of turpentine. Otherwise, the whole warehouse might be nothing now but a pile of charred remains.

She heard footsteps and turned to see Drake as he swept down the aisle toward her. She felt tempted to dart behind a nearby crate and hid, for the expression on his face spoke of anger. His gaze was locked on her with unswerving direction.

He must be appalled that she’d come down to the warehouse, or maybe it displeased him that she did so without her companion. She was going to have to come up with an explanation and quickly. She smiled broadly as he came nearer, then without warning he tackled her around the waist, and they both went flying into a pile of dried tobacco leaves.

She barely noticed the pungent odor for her eyes were riveted on the large crate that came toppling to the floor from the loft overhead. Appalled and speechless, she realized she truly was a jinx. She threw her arms around Drake and in a breathless whisper, she said, "My lord, you could have been killed."

"Is this another of your manipulative tactics, my love? For it is you who would have been harmed, not I." She was nonplused to his meaning, but thankful that some of the thunderous rage had disappeared from his eyes. "It was blasted good fortune that I came along when I did."

Drake’s body began to react to her softness pressed beneath him, and he suddenly realized a truth he’d been denying all along. He wanted Claresta Huntington no matter what hooks and crooks she’d devised to lead him into a parson’s mousetrap. He dipped his head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and moist and more responsive than he could have hoped. He deepened the kiss until he felt himself being lifted by the scuff of the neck. Drake was six foot tall, but the man who held him several inches off the floor made him feel like a dwarf.

"You get away from Miss Huntington," the large man said and shook Drake until he wobbled like a puppet on a string.

"It’s all right, Martin. Lord Norwood is my fiancé. Let him go."

"Humph," the man said, but he released Drake, and Claresta’s supporting hands were all that kept him from tumbling backwards.

"Go find Edwin, Martin. Tell him I need him right away."

Drake saw the fearful expression in Claresta’s eyes. He did not think she was that good an actress, and he’d wondered if she knew the truth he’d spoken. She would have been killed if he’d not seen the motion of the crate as it was scrapped over the edge of the loft floor. The more he thought about how the crate seemed to be inched over the side, the more he suspected foul play. He knew if someone in the loft had pushed the crate over, he would be long gone by now. He chastised himself for not thinking clearly enough to go and see right away.

"Where is that blasted cousin of yours, anyway?" he asked gruffly.

"I’m here, my lord." Edwin’s gaze swung toward his cousin. "Claresta, are you all right? Martin said something about an accident."

"Your cousin almost got herself killed. If anything should have happened to her, I would hold you responsible, Mr. Huntington."

"Now see here. It is not Edwin’s fault--"

"I want you to take your cousin home at once and see to hiring some labor to clean up this mess. What happened here, anyway?" Drake knew anger was a great antidote for fear, and he could see his words had just that effect on Claresta. He almost smiled but kept a serious countenance instead.

"‘Tis plain as the eye can see," she said. "Fire, my lord."

"I can see that," he said just as dryly. "Perhaps, if you’ll give your warehouse manager leave to speak, he can tell me if that was another accident, as well?"

"Of course, my lord. I will retire to the office as is proper and let you men have your say."

She wasn’t nearly as agreeable sounding as her words foretold, for Drake could have sworn she deliberately stomped on his foot as she turned to leave.

He glowered at Edwin as he awaited an explanation.

To Edwin’s credit he did not cower, in fact, a slight smile hovered around his lips as he said, "A fire, my lord. Don’t know how she started, but the whole place would have been a goner had Martin not smelled the smoke and put it out before it got a good hold."

"Very well, then see if you can hire a couple of men off the docks to help Martin clean the mess up. I’ll escort Miss Huntington home. When you finish work for the day, come round to Cheyne Walk as soon as you can. I think we need discuss a matter regarding your cousin."

"As you wish, my lord," Edwin said with a wide grin.

* * *

Drake delivered a Friday-faced Miss Huntington to her door and informed her he would pick her up at seven sharp. She bit her lip in worry, then bit her tongue to halt a refusal to accept his high-handed invitation. Instead she found herself spouting some inane remark about how much she was looking forward to meeting his family. Above all, she could not offend the lady who held such sway over the earl. It was obvious that he wanted his family’s approval, and they had a right to meet his future bride. If they should learn of her circumstances . . .

Oh dear, oh dear, why had she not informed him she could not possibly sponsor his sister for the upcoming Season? And why, oh why, did she suddenly feel so guilty about deceiving him? She touched her lips, remembering the kiss. If only he were marrying her for love instead of money.

She raced headlong up the staircase to her room and flung herself upon her bed and had a good cry.

Nan found her thus upon her return from the merchant shop to find lace trim for Claresta’s gown. "What’s this? Are you ill?"

Claresta shook her head.

"There, there, my dear," Nan said and patted Claresta’s back. "Tell Nan what’s troubling you and maybe I can help."

"Oh, Nan. I’m a liar, a jinx . . . a wanton."

"So the earl kissed you, did he?"

"How-how did you know that?" Claresta sniffed and wiped her nose on the handkerchief Nan handed her. If Nan knew all the other things the earl did besides kissing her, she would be appalled.

"When a gel gets all misty eyed over a fellow it stands to reason he’s done something to cause it."

"Oh, but he didn’t, I mean I’m certain he didn’t mean to kiss me at the time. It must have been because of the fright he took when the crate almost fell on him from the warehouse loft." He’d seemed just as distressed the day he’d pulled her from the lake. She tried to remember what had caused the kiss in the library at Norwood Manor, then thought, it was probably caused by the sudden engagement. Men often became overwrought when caught in the parson’s mousetrap. But, that night in her room, what had that been all about? She wasn’t so naive that she thought he’d gotten any fulfillment from what had happened between them.

She sniffed and blew her nose, managing to hold off more tears until she told Nan the worst of it. "I don’t know what I shall do, Nan. Lord Norwood’s family has arrived, and I’m to meet them this very evening. I thought I could carry through with this charade, but now . . ." Claresta flung herself upon the bosom of her friend and cried some more.

"Nonsense!" Nan gripped the girl by the upper arms and shook her. "You will do as you must to save Gilbert and Huntington and, therefore, the livelihood and future of this entire family. Is that not your very own words? It’s several weeks before the Season begins, by then you shall be Lady Norwood and that is that. If Lord Norwood or his family don’t know what a jewel they have gained in you, my dear, then they are not worth their salt, is what I say. And if your money doesn’t bring them about, then I’ll be a fairy princess."

Claresta laughed. "Oh Nan, you do know how to chase off the doldrums. You are right, as ever, I must do what I must."

"No, child, you are right."

* * *

When Edwin arrived in Cheyne Walk, he handed his coat and hat to the butler, turned and saw the most beautiful dark-headed lady coming down the winding staircase. She smiled broadly as she hurried down the remainder of the steps and extended her hand. "How wonderful, our first visitor."

He bowed over the gloved hand. How he managed to keep from stuttering he did not know. "You must be Miss Francine Lockwood."

"Yes, and you are?"

"Mr. Edwin Huntington, at your service, ma’am."

"Ohh, you are related to my brother’s fiancée, are you not?"

"I am."

"Then I suppose I must invite you to join us for dinner this evening."

"As should all Miss Huntington’s family be present," an older version of Miss Lockwood appeared at the head of the stairs.

"I was about to suggest the same, Mama. Come meet Edwin. He is quite dashing, is he not?"

"You are embarrassing the young man, Franny, and it is not polite to make such remarks in front of a gentleman. Forgive my daughter, Mr. Huntington, she is acting the rustic because I refused to allow her to accept an invitation to a musicale tomorrow night since my son is unable to lend escort."

Edwin lifted Mrs. Lockwood’s hand in his and bowed. "If you’re speaking of the do at the Linden’s, ma’am, then I’d be delighted to offer my services."

"Linden, yes that was the lady we met at Goddard’s this morning, wasn’t it, dear? You are very kind to offer, Mr. Huntington, but I do not wish to inconvenience you--"

"Oh, do say we can go, Mama," Franny pleaded. "It is the first invitation we’ve received since our arrival in London, and it will seem terribly rude of us not to show up."

"It will be no inconvenience for me, I assure you, Mrs. Lockwood, but an honor," Edwin said. "I daresay, I shall be the envy of every gentleman present to be in the company of two such beautiful ladies."

"Such flummery, Mr. Huntington, may work on my daughter . . ." Mrs. Lockwood cast her glance toward Francine whose pretty lips began to form a pout. "Very well then, we shall accept your kind offer."

Franny kissed her mother then ran up the stairs. When she reached the top tread, she turned and threw Edwin a kiss. His heart seemed to halt beating until the older lady reminded him of why he was here. "I believe my son awaits you in the study, Mr. Huntington."

"Yes, ma’am," he said, yet his eyes were still following Francine along the upper balcony.

"It is the first door to your left."

"Er, yes, ma’am."

* * *

Edwin found Mr. Thurmond and Shipley in attendance with the earl as well. After Lord Norwood explained his concerns about Miss Huntington, the entire group was quite anxious to offer assistance. It would mean keeping an alert watch on her whereabouts at all times, day and night. That settled, Drake asked Mr. Thurmond to remain, for he had business to discuss with the solicitor.

"As the Earl of Norwood, can I employ someone other than Mr. Denton to handle the transfer of the estates?" Drake asked.

Mr. Thurmond rubbed his double chin as he contemplated the answer. "If he is the executor of the will, there is not much you can do. But you are certainly within your rights to have your own legal representative to look out for you interests, what? If, of course, your papers are in order? You do have proof of you are the rightful heir?"

Drake handed over the identity papers. "Are those sufficient?"

Thurmond read them over and cleared his throat several times before speaking. "I’m not so much in my prime these days, what? Let my dearest friend’s granddaughter down, I did. My neglect nearly caused the company he started from scratch to go to ruin."

"Tell me about it, sir."

And thus Drake learned all about Claresta Huntington and the company she loved so dearly she was willing to marry an unknown to save it. With a little urging, Thurmond divulged all that Claresta had gone through since her father died. He told how Baines nearly bankrupted the company; how she pulled Westhaven out of the River Tick more times than should be necessary and saw that her aunt lacked for nothing; how she took over running the company and, in spite of the prejudice against a woman in Trade, turned Gilbert and Huntington from a dying enterprise into a successful venture. Suddenly Drake knew a respect for Claresta than he’d held for only one other woman before.

"You still want me to represent you?" Thurmond asked.

"I do."

Thurmond slapped his hand against his knee. A twinkle of mirth showed in his eyes as he said, "Denton will be rather miffed, what, when he learns he’s to be relieved of his commission."

"I dare say, he shall, but I’m certain you can handle things much more to my satisfaction." Drake shook hands with Thurmond confirming his confidence in him.

"Thank you, my lord." A mist of gratitude nearly blinded the old man as he turned to leave.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Drake was as surprised as Claresta when they arrived in the drawing room that evening to find not only her relatives, but the Chelsworths present, as well. He introduced his fiancée to his stepmother and sister and gave Druscilla a questioning look before addressing the other guests.

"I believe you know Lord and Lady Chelsworth and their daughter, Lady Emmeline," he said to Claresta.

When the civilities were stilted and slow coming, Druscilla, fidgeting more than usual, quickly explained, "I did not get a chance to tell you, Drake, that Lord Chelsworth stopped by to discuss a matter with you this afternoon while you were in conference with those other gentlemen. Since we know so few in London yet, I thought a neighbor to Norwood Manor would be a welcome addition to our informal celebration this evening. I especially thought it would be nice since Emmeline is of an age with Franny--er, Francine," she changed when her daughter gave her a reproachful glance.

Francine had complained the family nickname made her sound so childlike, but her brother didn’t take the cue from her mother’s use of her formal appellation. "Franny will make lots of friends once the Season starts, but one always cherishes the first, Lady Emmeline," Drake said.

His cordiality toward her daughter seemed to please the girl’s mother. "To get on in Town, one must have the proper connections."

"Connections can be important," Drake said, "but I suspect good manners are equally coveted."

"Yes, yes, indeed," Lord Chelsworth quickly agreed giving his wife a warning glance. Lord Norwood had already hinted to Lord Chelsworth there’d be no help from him on financing the enclosures on his portion of their adjoining properties if he did not put an end to his wife’s rude behavior toward Miss Huntington.

Drake noted Francine had a most disgruntled look on her face when he stepped closer to Claresta. He wondered what his sister was piqued at him about? Perhaps because he’d called her Franny? She’d informed him earlier that day formalities were important to the English, and she so wanted to make a good impression on the nobility. When she saw Edwin’s brother was one of its members, she’d decided Lord Westhaven would be the first test for her social skills.

She smiled at said gentleman, but he seemed more preoccupied with arranging his lace sleeves, than paying her any attention. Francine’s frown deepened when she turned to the gentleman standing on her other side.

Edwin grinned and saluted her before he took another sip of his port. Since she’d confided in him during their turn around the garden earlier about her plans to marry a titled gentleman, he’d mocked her at every turn. But then he was probably cut from the same cloth as his cousin, Franny thought.

She’d abandoned Edwin’s company when the Chelsworth’s arrived, since he seemed not to have an inkling of useful information about current fashions. And after what she’d just learned, there was no wonder Lord Westhaven ignored her. The poor fellow must be beside himself with concern for his cousin’s conduct.

Francine was in a quandary. Her mother had always told her she should pay little heed to gossip. But, in this instance, she could not forget the things Lady Emmeline had confided to her about her future sister-in-law as they became acquainted in a quiet corner of the room while the others conversed about taxations and representations, or some such boring topic.

She saw the besotted look on Drake’s face when he arrived and introduced his betrothed. Oh, she did want her brother to be happy, but couldn’t he have chosen someone more suitable? She simply must do something.

Edwin snorted, and she whirled away from him when Miss Huntington, as if coming out of a fog, piped in a slightly distressed tone, "Celebration?"

"Why, your engagement to my son, my dear," Druscilla said.

There was a lot of coughing, gasping and grunts from the other guests, instead of the usual congratulations one would expect at this time.

Claresta thought she might burst into tears when Druscilla stepped forward and kissed her cheek. "It is best wishes I believe that are due the bride. And welcome to our family, my dear."

Francine, although a bit more reserved with her embrace, followed her mother’s example and then the rest of the guests did the obligatory thing.

Compliments to the betrothed couple were played out-- Edwin and Aunt Ester’s, warm and sincere, but the rest held little enthusiasm. Then with the exception of Lord Chelsworth discussing the enclosures with Drake, the conversation came to a lull so often that Mrs. Lockwood appeared almost as relieved as Claresta when dinner was announced.

As Drake escorted Claresta into the dining room, he leaned close and whispered, "Don’t look so blue-deviled, sweetheart, it shall be over with soon."

When seated next to her, he reached under the table and squeezed her hand. "Everything will turn out fine," he said so only she could hear.

Not if he knew the whole truth about her, Claresta thought. She smiled wanly, and, as their gazes locked, guilt weighed heavily upon her shoulders. Druscilla had given her an amiable welcome, but Drake’s sister continued her glower from across the table. She said, "Your family seems very nice."

Claresta lowered her gaze to her bowl of turtle soup when her left eyelid began to twitch.

The dinner was half over when Lady Emmeline leaned over and confided something to Francine. Drake’s sister splattered Reggie’s stiff white cravat when her wineglass slipped out of her hand and the red liquid splashed every which way.

"Oh," she cried and jumped to her feet. For a moment she seemed nonplused on how to react, her head swiveling from guest to guest. Then as if suddenly finding a place to lay blame, she pointed a finger at Claresta, but her hostility was directed at Drake as she cried, "My Season will be ruined if you marry her. How could you?"

"Francine! Do sit down and behave yourself." Druscilla seemed dismayed by her daughter’s outburst, but Claresta knew perfectly well what, and who, had provoked it. Lady Emmeline broke out in a smile when Francine stomped her foot.

"I will not sit at table with a-a . . . an apeleader, a Cit’s daughter, who deals in Trade as if she were a man."

Although, Mrs. Lockwood must have been appalled about the things thus revealed, she did an admirable job of maintaining her composure. "Then please, dear, go to your room until you are in better control of your emotions."

"I will not go to my room!"

Drake intervened. "That’s enough, Franny. Do as your mother told you."

"I will not go to my room," she repeated, but with less fortitude. "Your fiancée is a jinx who casts spells upon her suitors when they did not come up to scratch."

Drake scraped back his chair and stood. "I said enough! Don’t make this into a war between us, Franny."

She glared at Drake for a moment then burst into tears as she ran out the doorway leading into the garden.

Druscilla looked apprehensively after her daughter. "Perhaps I should see--"

"Allow me," Edwin said and threw down his napkin as he stood and followed the acid-tongued filly into the garden.

There was another round of coughing, gasping and grunting, with the exceptions of Lady Chelsworth and Lady Emmeline who both looked very like cats who just licked the cream bowl clean, and Lord Westhaven, who in spite of his stained clothing, wore a grin that nearly split his ears.

Other than wanting to crawl beneath the table and hide, Claresta felt rather relieved to have everything out in the open. Not for the first time, she pondered why the Chelsworth’s had missed the opportunity to tell Drake all about her crimson record when they were at Norwood Manor. Had he developed such a tendre for her that he refused to listen to the Chelsworth’s damning tales? Claresta stifled a deep sigh.

Nonetheless, she knew now that his family was present, Drake would place their feelings above his own. And she must have been mistaken about tender feelings on his part, for he wouldn’t even look at her now as he dug his fork into his food with great interest. Lord Chelsworth then asked him about last years’ wheat yield at Oakcrest, and the conversation began to buzz once more.

Claresta, fearing her stomach would rebel if she took another bite, rearranged the food on her plate, as the others picked up polite conversation around her. Mrs. Lockwood and Aunt Ester tried to include Claresta in a discussion of fashion, but a nod of agreement from time to time seemed all they required from her. Reggie and Lady Emmeline who’d never shown a great deal of interest in each other before, now kept up a whispered tête-à-tête. Claresta figured she was the cause of their sudden camaraderie. If only, she thought wistfully, Mrs. Lockwood and her daughter had not arrived until after . . .

Well, no matter, she knew from past experience, fate certainly had a way of slapping one in the face when one was already down. She discretely drank in what might be her last sight of Drake’s handsome profile. The man she’d first thought a bumpkin turned out to be intelligent and sincere. The most perfect specimen of man she’d ever known. She loved him, she realized, and she could not even put a precise place or time the event occurred. A day ago? A month? Somehow, it seemed she’d loved him forever.

She became envious of the fork his long fingers wrapped around, and remembered the pleasure those same digits had given her. When his full, firm lips parted to receive the fork’s offering, she thought of that first kiss by the lake. No one had ever kissed her that way before, with lips opened, tongue plundering inside her mouth. She’d thought it the most intimate thing a man could do to a woman until the next night when he came into her room and. . .

She picked up her wineglass and took a large swallow, hoping no one noticed the heat rising in her face. Drake took that moment to turn his attention on her, and an intimate, knowing smile spread across his face. His gaze locked with hers, and sparks of light dance in his beautiful eyes. He knew. Somehow, she knew he knew what she’d been thinking, and he didn’t seem displeased with her in the least. Her heart began to thrum inside her chest. All kinds of possibilities formed inside her head. Could he possibly forgive her for her deceit? Could he overlook her dealings in Trade? The stigma of jinx attached to her name by the ton?

Lord Chelsworth spoke to him again, and he turned away. Claresta sat down her wineglass and decided it would do her no good to fantasize about their past or their future. Drake did not know the full extent of her fouled reputation yet. How would Lord Norwood break the engagement? she wondered.

He would be tactful, of course, wait until all the other guests were gone, then ask her to step into the library for a private word. Or, perhaps he’d wait until he’d delivered her home. That way, should she have a fit of histrionics, he could be shut of her more quickly. As it turned out, Mrs. Lockwood was the one to ask for a private word with her after the gentlemen were left to their port and politics.

* * *

Out in the garden, Francine, sitting beside Edwin on a stone bench, was making good use of his shoulder. He gave her his handkerchief and told her, "Dry up. Tears will make your eyes and nose look like raw meat."

She quickly took his advice and sniffed only a couple of times more before thanking him for the use of his handkerchief. She felt somewhat embarrassed for making a spectacle of herself. What if her brother really was in love with the lady? She would simply die if he chose Miss Huntington over her.

"Keep it," he said, when she tried to give the handkerchief back to him.

"Are you much put out with me then for nay-saying your cousin?" she said, giving him a coquettish glance beneath dark lashes.

Edwin sucked in his breath. At any other time, he would be easily swayed by Francine’s coyness. But his cousin, Claresta, had been too good to him and his family, and his devotion to her ran deep. "Very much so."

"Ohh. But surely you cannot endorse Miss Huntington’s careless behavior? Why, Lord Westhaven must be simply appalled by what his cousin has been up to."

"Appalled? I daresay, he is, for he is almost as spoiled and selfish as you." He spoke from the heart.

She drew her sharp little chin up and declared, "You are a cad, sir."

"And you are a tartar," Edwin countered.

"Toad!"

"Fool," he whispered and kissed her solidly to allay another verbal attack.

* * *

In the library, Mrs. Lockwood poured a measure of brandy into two glasses. Claresta sat on the edge of the wing chair opposite from the sofa where the lady sat down.

Druscilla sipped her brandy and said, "Drink up, my dear, for the questions I am about to ask you, you will probably not wish to provide answers."

Claresta sat the glass down on the shiny tabletop and folded her hands tightly in her lap. "You cannot ask anything that would make me feel worse than I already do, Mrs. Lockwood."

"I do apologize for my daughter’s behavior, my dear."

"It is the way of the young to be overly dramatic at times, is it not? And . . . perhaps she does have reason to be concerned for her future."

Druscilla leaned back and sighed. "That is what I’ve come to suspect from the reticence toward you from my guests this evening. And apparently one of them revealed something to my daughter that has upset her to no end. Since I seem to be the only one who knows nothing about what is going on, perhaps you’d better enlighten me."

"You will hate me above all when you hear it," Claresta said with dread.

"Surely it could not be as bad as that, Miss Huntington."

Claresta decided to unburden herself. She told Mrs. Lockwood everything, sparing herself no disparagement.

When she finished, Mrs. Lockwood sat quietly for so long, Claresta wondered if she should just get up and leave. Finally the lady sighed once more and said, "I fear, I must deal with this situation rather bluntly, Miss Huntington. In case you have not found out for yourself by now, I’ll tell you there are two things that my son holds dear to his heart. One is respect, and the other is honesty."

Claresta bowed her head. "I know," she whispered softly. "And I suppose you must think rather poorly of me, as well."

"Not I, Claresta. Might I call you Claresta? I feel under any other circumstances, you and I would become fast friends."

Claresta didn’t know what to make of that statement. She gave a cursory nod of approval, and the lady continued, "I know what it is for a woman to have to use every avenue available to her to survive in this world of masculine dominance."

Filled with curiosity, Claresta asked, "You, ma’am?"

"When my father died penniless, it was either marry or become a servant. I could have done the latter, if I’d possessed a bit of your fortitude perhaps. I do admire you, my dear, but regardless of my personal feelings toward you, I do not believe you are right for my stepson."

Blunt. Yes the lady certainly had come right out with it and with such diplomacy, Claresta thought. In one breath Mrs. Lockwood had admitted to admiring her, as well as rejecting her as not being good enough to become a member of her family. But, Claresta thought, hadn’t she already admitted as much to herself? Drake could make a much better match.

A deep-set feeling of hurt weighed on Claresta’s chest. She glanced at the shabby curtains, the faded wallpaper and furniture. There was a possibility she could still change the lady’s mind. "Perhaps you do not know, Mrs. Lockwood, of the settlement agreement I made with Lord Norwood. There is a clause that will provide him with adequate funds to restore his estates and make his holdings at Norwood Manor a profitable enterprise."

Druscilla looked at Claresta for a moment as if she had grown an extra ear, then she burst out laughing. "I can see you are not the only one who has been less than revealing about your circumstances."

Claresta frowned. "I do not understand your meaning, madam."

"Oh do forgive my outburst, it was rather rude of me. But, if you are worried about how Drake will finance repairs and such on this house or Norwood Manor, then you fret for naught, my dear. He can well afford to do so. His maternal grandfather left him quite a fortune, as well as a lucrative shipping enterprise. Sheffield, I am sure you must have heard of it."

"Yes," Claresta said quietly. Not only had she heard of it, but she had also done business with the company from America just a few weeks ago, the same day she’d walked into the Boar Bristle Inn and saved Drake from being sent to gaol. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she didn’t know if it were from being made a fool of or because the lady could not seem to stop laughing at her expense.

"Oh, forgive me," Mrs. Lockwood said again and sobered. "You are apparently a very generous person, Miss Huntington, and I should not be laughing at this very serious moment."

Claresta felt a mixture of embarrassment and irritation. She would rather suffer the lady’s ridicule than to have her turn condescending.

Mrs. Lockwood continued, "That is something that the two of you do have in common. Drake is always ready to lend a helping hand. No doubt, he decided to sign your paper as soon as he learned you needed his help. But, you do not strike me as the type to accept sympathy in any form."

They had only just met, but the lady seemed to know all there was to know about her. An acerbic comment sprang off her tongue without thought. "I suppose Drake’s father was struck by the generous spirit when he offered for you, or did he hold you in such high esteem he could not do otherwise?"

Claresta immediately wished she could take back her scornful words when she saw a brief flash of pain in the lady’s eyes.

"Esteem? Quentin alluded to the notion before the knot was tied," she said in a reflective voice. "He could be quite charming when he wished. But it did not take long for him to bare his true colors. No, he did not love me, and made no bones about telling me so, and he was kind to our children, more so, I think, to expose Drake to the contrast of his affections. To my knowledge, he never showed anything but contempt for Drake. In spite of my stepson’s act of indifference, I believe he suffered a great deal from his father’s lack of affection."

Claresta lifted the brandy glass and took a large gulp. She coughed and with trembling hands returned the glass to the table. "How could a man not love his own son?"

"I do not know. Perhaps Quentin’s ability to love died with Drake’s mother. For some reason he blamed Drake for her drowning. How one could have placed such a burden on a two year old is beyond reason." She sighed. "Drake naturally rebelled against his father by being disobedient and it was always tit for tat between the two."

"It must have been difficult living with such a cold-hearted person."

"As I said, Quentin was quite persuasive when he wanted. Most of Kent County believed him to be a fine upstanding citizen, which his actions made undeniable. He was a major landowner, a leader of the community, charitable to his servants, always willing to lend a helping hand to his neighbor. Consequently, everyone treated Drake with the same disdain his father showed him. Of course, you cannot fault them, when Drake’s defiance made him scrap with the local boys at every turn. When Quentin passed away, Drake was sixteen, still a boy. But he settled down and began running Oakcrest better than his father had, even knowing it had been left to his younger brother. I think he relished the chance to prove his father wrong. I suppose the way he’d seen his father conduct himself is partly why Drake demands forthrightness from those around him. Through hard work and the caring way he looked after his family, he gained respect from every single person who’d previously treated him with scorn.

"I tell you all this, Miss Huntington, because I want you to understand how important having a good name in Society is to Drake."

"I wish I could undo the harm I may have already caused him," Claresta said with regret. Why could Denton have not located Drake five years ago when the previous earl passed on and left his estate for his next of kin, when Claresta was still a respected member of Society. If he had come to England then, things might have turned out differently.

"You are in love with him, then," Mrs. Lockwood guessed. "That makes things a bit more difficult, to be sure."

"I understand," Claresta said quietly. She realized what Mrs. Lockwood said was true, Drake probably accepted her proposal because he knew how much it meant to her. She couldn’t even maintain her anger at him for breaking his own rule of forthrightness by allowing her to believe he needed her money. But did he? She couldn’t remember one instance when he’d said he would be using her funds for anything. As always, Claresta made a decision without hesitating.

"Lord Norwood is too honorable to break the engagement himself. If it is to be done, then it must come from me. Be assured this matter shall be settled before the evening is over, Mrs. Lockwood."

"I wish it could be otherwise, my dear."

"I know, and I thank you for that." Claresta got up and kissed her almost mother-in-law on the cheek and, although her spirits were low, she walked out of the library with her head held high.

* * *

In the music room Lady Emmeline pounded out an unrecognizable tune on the pianoforte. Edwin and Francine were sitting together on the sofa. When he saw Claresta enter, her cousin patted the seat next to him, silently offering her a place to sit. She waited until the piece was finished and while there was a smattering of applause, without glancing left or right, she started across the room. But her arm was trapped in a strong hand as she passed Lord Norwood. He leaned down and whispered, "I wish a word with you. Let’s take a walk in the garden."

Claresta’s heart settled somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. He was going to cry craven after all. Well, it would save her the trouble.

As they left, Francine took her seat at the pianoforte and struck up a tender tune. To Claresta’s surprise Drake swept her into his arms and began waltzing her across the cobbled walkway. Why was he being so gentle with her? she wondered.

He danced her through the open doors of the empty conservatory to the left wing of the manor. Then, he stopped moving, and his lips descended onto hers. She could not have resisted if her life depended upon it. As he kissed her breathless, she had a vision of the room filled with colorful, scented flowers.

She returned his ardor with all the pent-up feelings of love she possessed for him. Knowing it would be the last time she would know the warm touch of his lips upon hers, she slid her arms tightly around his neck and pulled him closer. Who could fault her for indulging in this final farewell? Finally, she came to her senses and twisted her head away. "My lord, you mustn’t."

"And why mustn’t I?" Drake said teasingly. "You are soon to be my wife, and I warn you I shall take liberties from time to time."

Claresta’s protest died on her lips as his head lowered toward hers once more. She gloried in the feel of his tongue ravishing her mouth. She’d never been kissed thus by anyone else and knew she never would be again after tonight. She allowed it to go on for several minutes before she again pulled away. "This-this is all very well and good, but there is something I have to say, sir. Under the circumstances, I fear I must call off our engagement."

Drake chuckled. "And I fear I must call it back on again."

He tried to kiss her again, but she moved out of his reach. He did not seem to be taking her seriously. "Please, sir. You are making this extremely difficult. I--"

Claresta saw the shadowed figure with a pistol raised in his hand snake around the entrance from the garden. She cried out. Drake moved quickly, and once again she found herself shoved to the floor, Lord Norwood sprawled across her body. A loud retort sounded at the same time, but it was a moment before she realized Drake had been shot. Blood oozed from the side of his head.

She pushed him to her side, dug his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and pressed it against the wound. She realized the others must not have heard the shot, since she could faintly hear singing from the music room. She yelled, "Someone, please help me." But still there was no response.

She jumped up, yanked the bell rope, then rushed back to cradle Drake’s head across her lap. The blood flow was only a trickle now, but still he did not open his eyes, and she worried that he’d been fatally wounded. "I do love you, Drake Lockwood. If you die on me, I’ll never forgive you."

Relief flowed though her when Drake blinked, then examined his injury with his hand and said, "Don’t worry, my love. I was dazed for a minute, but it appears to be only a flesh wound."

Since she could not think what else to do, she leaned down and kissed him instead. "Are you sure you’re all right?"

Before he could answer, the door opened, and the butler said, "You rang-- Oh dear, dear me. Shall I send someone for a doctor?"

"Yes." "No." Claresta and Drake replied at the same time.

Claresta won out, and hearing the commotion in the hallway as the butler cried out for assistance, the rest of the group hurried into the room.

"Good Lord, surely you did not shoot him?" Edwin said.

"Of course not," Claresta bristled.

"Bandage me up, Druscilla. It is only a flesh wound," Drake said.

To Claresta’s amazement, Druscilla rushed everyone but her out of the room. The lady then called to the servants for hot water and bandages and did as Drake asked.

Just then Shipley and the solicitor burst through the garden door with Lord Westhaven in tow. "Found this one lurking about outside, what?" Mr. Thurmond announced. The ruckus had the others piling into the room again.

"I tell you I was only taking the air, you dolt."

"Ran like a scared rabbit, he did," Shipley said, using a term he’d picked up from his American employer.

"I thought I was being accosted by ruffians, you nincompoop."

"I saw the man for a flash. I could have sworn he was wearing my father’s sapphire stickpin," Claresta declared. Her gaze lifted accusingly to her cousin. "You! You were the only one who could have taken my father’s jewelry case that night. What have you done, you cur?" Claresta would have lit into her cousin with both fists if Lord Norwood had not held her back.

"He was not wearing the stickpin tonight, love."

She calmed somewhat. And Edwin said, "I daresay, he can tell us who was wearing it. Right, Reggie, boy?"

Drake’s fist suddenly shot forward, tapping Lord Westhaven a facer that sent him reeling onto his backside. Drake stood over him and demanded. "Who other than yourself wishes Claresta dead?"

"Dead?" Westhaven’s eyes widened. As he rubbed his chin, he rose to a sitting position but did not attempt to stand, since Norwood would likely set him on his arse again. "You are mistaken, sir. I would never harm my cousin. I will admit I went along with arranging a few accidents to scare off her suitors. Took her father’s jewelry, too. Pawned it to the cent-per-cent man on Clarges. When I went to settle up with the money you lent me, he’d already sold it."

"Good heavens, you loaned him money?" Claresta asked. She realized the interview he’d had with Drake at Norwood Manor had not only been about her.

"Oh, Reggie," Aunt Ester cried, "you are a disgrace, just like your father." With that reproach she ran from the room. When Edwin departed to console his mother, Francine, looking indecisive for a moment, followed.

"Who did he sell it to?" Drake demanded not relinquishing his threatening stance over Lord Westhaven.

"Baines, I suppose. He fit the description the usurer gave me. I’ve been in dun territory for some time now. He learned of it and bought up all my gaming vouchers. He kept harping on how my livelihood depended on getting the company. Made me sign an agreement to give him half ownership. He expected to manage things again once I took possession of Gilbert and Huntington.

"I suppose he thought to hold the jewelry over my head, as well. He must have decided that getting rid of Claresta would solve all our problems, the impatient, blundering idiot. Tonight she was ready to call off the wedding. I overheard her say as much to Mrs. Lockwood when I passed the open window of the library earlier."

"That shall not happen!" Drake said and ordered Shipley to have his carriage brought round, posthaste. He got directions from Westhaven to Baines’ rooms.

"My lord, surely you do not intend going after Baines in your condition," Claresta protested.

"Surely I do, love. But do not worry. The runners I hired should have been keeping an eye on the premises. They must have followed Baines and likely have him in custody by now. You wait here. I wish to talk to you when I return."

He kissed her soundly, then left. She looked at Druscilla and an understanding passed between the ladies. "He did not even take a weapon," Claresta said. "Is there one in the house?"

"Dueling pistols in the library display case. They probably have not been used in an age, but will be better than nothing. Quigley," Druscilla called out to the butler, as Claresta hurried toward the library. "Go out and hail a hackney and be quick about it."

By the time the hackney arrived in Chancery Lane, Baines was fleeing on foot with Drake not far behind. The Bow Street Runners were puffing, trying to keep up. Apparently, they’d merely kept the man under surveillance and waited for Drake to arrive and give them further instruction.

As Baines disappeared into a patch of fog, Drake sent the Runners in flanking positions. The hackney carrying Claresta and Druscilla turned onto the street, and Claresta saw Drake pause under a street lamp, crimson spots visible on his bandage. "Dear God, he’ll bleed to death or Baines will shoot him again."

"Claresta, come back here!" Druscilla yelled as Claresta grabbed the heavy pistol off the hackney seat and jumped from the coach.

Fear for his life drove Claresta through the foggy streets after Drake. Unfortunately, he too, disappeared into the thick mist. When she could not locate him, she assumed he’d turned into one of the alleys, but she wasn’t sure which.

She peered down one or two of the dark lanes she thought he might have taken and called out, "Drake, are you here?"

There was no answer, just the sound of things scurrying though the debris that littered her path. If she remembered correctly, all the alleys on this side of the street led down to the docks. Baines would likely be trying to escape by sea. She would just follow one of the passageways and find Drake when she came out on the other side.

She eased down the cave-like darkness with caution, almost stumbling over debris as she edged her way along. As she neared the other end, she heard someone tell a bawdy joke, and a chorus of laughter followed. She pressed herself between a stack of crates near the exit until the trio of sailors moved on. How foolish of her to follow Drake alone and on foot, she thought, but it was too late to turn back now.

She hefted the pistol in both hands and started to exit onto the thoroughfare. Suddenly, something jumped from behind one of the crates and struck her on the wrist. A sharp stab of pain in her hand caused her to release the pistol. It went skittering across the pavement. A hand clamped over her mouth as she was about to scream, and she felt something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. It seemed Baines had more than one weapon at his disposal.

"Don’t give me any trouble, Miss Huntington, or I’ll slash your throat and leave you here for the starving rats."

Claresta knew Baines meant it when she felt a prick on her neck and blood trickled into the crevice at the top of her gown. He dragged her along until he came to a private dock. A portly man stepped forward on a small barge and said, "Good God, Baines, you cannot mean to bring the gel along. Norwood will kill us for sure."

"Shut up and start working those oars. The captain of the Starlight said he’d wait no longer than midnight."

He shoved Claresta onto the planking and Denton caught her as she almost toppled over. She would gladly have jumped over the side, but Baines twisted her arms behind her and tied her wrists with a piece of hemp. He shoved her to her knees and lifted a long oar at the other end to help Denton propel the vessel toward the ship anchored several hundred feet offshore.

As they pulled away from the dock, Claresta searched the darkened street for Drake. She thought of screaming out for him, but Baines must have read her thoughts.

"Norwood won’t be coming for you now, girly. I can thank you for that. He got distracted when he heard you calling ‘em in that alley. I cracked his skull," Baines said triumphantly. "I dragged him behind those crates just in time for you to come a creeping into my trap."

Claresta wondered what could have happened to the Runners. Dear Drake. She had been the cause of him suffering another head injury. What if Baines hit him too hard? She wouldn’t allow herself to think like that now. He must be alive, or she would somehow know.

"You should have left them both for dead," Denton complained.

"Not this one, not yet. I want her to feel as much humiliation as she dished out to me a year ago."

Her fate was sealed. Death or worse, she knew, waited for her once they were on board that ship. It was the worse that bothered her. She regretted that Drake had been unconscious and probably didn’t hear her the only time she’d vowed her love. She silently repeated it now. I love you, Drake. Please come for me, darling, before it’s too late.

* * *

"There she is," Druscilla cried out.

Drake, who’d continued to search the alleyways, came running over to her. His stepmother and one of the runners had found him lying behind the crate where Baines had left him for dead. After a dousing by foul smelling water Druscilla had ordered the man to scoop from the Thames, he’d came to. At once he remembered Claresta creeping along that dark alley. Since she was not lying here beside him dead, he knew Baines must have taken her.

Drake peered into the darkness out over the Thames until he spotted a lamplight in the distance. As the fog cleared momentarily, he saw a halo of strawberry curls silhouetted around the head of the person seated in the mid-section of the vessel. He knew it to be Claresta. He breathed easier knowing she was still alive.

He looked about for a vessel small enough to catch them. Hidden among several canal boats he saw a dinghy, probably left there by sailors on shore leave.

His stomach roiled as he jumped into the swaying vessel. He willed the queasiness away by thinking of Claresta and how frightened she must be at this moment. He shoved the oars into the rowing crutch.

"Drake?" Druscilla said.

He glanced up as he untied the rope that held the boat to the dock. Reminded of all the times his stepmother had protected him from his father’s heavy hand, Drake realized he owed her much. But she would just have to get used to the idea of having Claresta as a member of the family.

"I’m coming with you," she said, and before Drake could object, she stepped into the boat and plopped down on the plank seat in the stern. He was about to order her out, but with her usual discernment of any given situation, she made too much sense to be defied.

"You’ll need someone to guide you since you’ll have to row backwards. Now, turn a little right. Starboard, I believe it’s called. That’s it. Now just maintain a steady course and we’ll catch them in no time."

He obeyed his stepmother’s instructions, knowing she would guide him on a straight course no matter how little she approved of his fiancée. He would defy Druscilla’s judgment on this one point, however. Claresta Huntington would become his wife whether his family approved or not. He just needed to save her first, he thought, and he paddled with all his might.

* * *

"’Tis bloody bad luck to take a woman on a ship. We should dump her overboard now and be done with it," Denton complained.

Claresta remembered Drake’s anxiety over boarding water vessels, but somehow she knew he would come for her if he could. Her belief in him renewed her courage, and she lifted her chin and said, "You harm one hair on my head and Lord Norwood will see you dead."

Denton, already overwrought with superstition, dropped his oar.

"Dear God, man, look at her. She looks like a bloody specter," he fretted as he slid down in the prow and stared at Claresta.

"You old fool! Grab that before it is lost for good."

But Denton did not budge. He seemed mesmerized by the fog swirling and casting an ethereal glow around Claresta’s glorious mane in the lamplight. He shuddered as if the sight added to his anxiety.

Claresta, seeing this as her one chance for escape, glared steadily at him, and slowly smiled as she pointed her finger at Denton. ‘Twas a disconcerting sight for a man already fraught with fear. She tried to think of something spectral to say, but could only come up with a distorted version of a Bible verse she remembered, "For what you have sown, you shall reap in hell." She added for good measure, "tenfold."

"Dash it, Baines, she’s laid a cursed upon us like she did the others."

"She ain’t no sorceress," Baines denied, as he quickly lost patience with his partner. "I told you ‘twas me what arranged those accidents. The blasted chit had nothing to do with it!"

"B-but, what of Pedigrew? He didn’t have no accident."

"I slipped a little dose of something in his soup, that is all."

Claresta felt relief, knowing once and for all that she was not a jinx, had not been the cause of Pedigrew’s death. Baines’ greed had been the root of all the trouble. She swung around in her seat and shouted, "Murderer!"

Baines lifted the long oar. Claresta closed her eyes and ducked as he swung it around. She heard a cracking sound, then a splash and looked up in time to see Denton flounder in the water and grasp the side of the boat near Baines.

He stomped his partner’s hand with his boot, and Denton gave way and sank beneath the surface. Blood mingled into the swirling current, and Claresta fought down the bile that threatened to rise.

Baines ranted like a madman now. He called them fools and lifted the oar again. Claresta thought she heard Drake shout her name, telling her to jump. She dove overboard. As the cold water of the Thames enveloped her, she heard wood splinter as the oar came crashing down on the deck where she’d been sitting.

"Help her," Drake shouted to Druscilla as their dinghy banged into the side of the barge. Baines had his oar raised to strike out at her again. Drake drove himself into the back of the man’s knees, toppling them both into the brink.

The cold water was a shock, but Drake’s thoughts were all on Claresta. His heart pounded furiously as he scanned the murky water, then caught a sight of Druscilla assisting her into the dinghy. He swam after Baines who was striking a course for the nearby ship.

The crew, having witnessed the scoundrel trying to kill a woman, cheered as Drake caught Baines and clipped him a good one across the chin. The man went out like a light. The ship’s crew looked on with interest, but no one interfered when Drake lashed Baines to the outside prow of the dinghy instead of putting him inside the boat with the women and rowed back to the dock.

* * *

The runners had gone for the Magistrate and were waiting when they reached the dock. Someone produced blankets, and Drake bundled one of them around Claresta. He dried himself off as well as possible with another.

Before they took Baines away, Claresta watched Drake snatch him by his cravat. Choking the man until his eyeballs bulged in fear.

"You won’t need this where you’re going," Drake said and removed her father’s stickpin. He shoved it in his pocket and pushed the miscreant into the arms of the authorities.

Baines saw Claresta and snarled venomously. "‘Tis all your fault. If you would have behaved like any normal chit, all this would never have come to pass."

Drake was about to pummel the man again when Claresta caught his arm. "Enough, Lord Norwood, or you will kill him."

"As he tried to do to you," Drake said bitterly.

"But, you saved my life."

"Yes, and I don’t wish to have to make a habit of it."

"Of course not," Claresta said stiffly. "I’ll put a notice in the papers tomorrow."

Drake helped Claresta and Druscilla into the coach that awaited them. "What notice?" he asked as he seated himself across from the ladies.

"To call off the wedding," Druscilla said offhandedly. "Then you can find yourself a respectable lady to wed and go about in Society as you have always wished."

"As I have always wished," Drake repeated quietly. He suddenly realized the regard of people who placed themselves above the rest of society no longer mattered to him. He looked at Druscilla and smiled.

"My dear Mother," he said, leaving off the step part for the first time. "I think I must nay-say you, unless . . . of course, it is Claresta’s choice to give up her current lifestyle." He took Claresta’s hand in his and felt her shiver as he brought her fingers to his lips. "What do you say, my love? Will you give up your Cit ways for a title?"

Claresta, struck with amazement that he still wanted to marry her, could not speak. They reached Gilbert House, and Drake followed her up the stairs to the door. He gripped her arm and turned her toward him before she could raise the knocker.

"I should tell you I am a wealthy man with a healthy investment in a shipping industry if it would sweeten the bargain for you," Drake added.

"Hmmm, yes, a lucrative enterprise from what I hear." Claresta said. She felt warm and cozy standing close to Drake, even though her clothes were still damp. He was wet, as well, and would catch his death if she didn’t send him own his way.

She couldn’t bear to part from him just yet.

"What are you doing?" he asked when she lifted the blanket and placed it over his shoulders.

"Getting cozy," she said wrapping the ends about her. He gripped them in place at her waist.

"Cozy is good," he said when the arrangement brought them even closer together.

She could not resist running her hands up and down the lapel of his damp coat and gloried in the way he looked at her. She remembered the pin and slid her hand into his coat pocket and pulled it out. She attached it to his wrinkled cravat and smoothed down the surrounding material over and over again, wanting only to continue touching him in some way.

"Do I dare hope there is some significance in that gesture," Drake asked huskily.

She thought she should be angry with him for not telling her about his wealth sooner, but then that would be like calling the kettle black. And her feelings for him were so overwhelming that she could not stay piqued at him for long on any account.

"Perhaps there is some significance, my lord?"

"Drake."

"Drake," she said and smiled up at him. She could not resist teasing him a little when she added, "We could form a partnership, you and I. My import business could use a ready form of transport."

"If you give me your word it is to be a lifetime venture, then is done," Drake laughed. He knew the true significance of the partnership they would form and wasn’t the least taken in by her teasing. "I shall apply for a special license, and we’ll have the deed done tomorrow."

"Oh," she said looking nonplused about his decision.

"Is a hasty wedding not to your liking, love?"

"It is not that," she said, glancing at him shyly. "But, you have not yet heard my expectations."

The memory of the night she promised to make such known to him sent blood surging to his lower region. He did not think he could make it another day without claiming her completely as his own. With less patience than he felt, he said, "Shall we wait, then, until the Banns are completed."

"Unless you are willing to take a chance."

"A chance?"

She whispered, since Druscilla seemed to be leaning further and further out the carriage window. "Wh--What if my expectations seem to you unreasonable?"

"Perhaps," Drake said, "you could tell me what it is that you wish and let me decide now."

She leaned close and whispered in his ear.

"Good God!" Drake almost lost the iron control he’d maintained over his libido for the past several days. Reminded of her coming apart beneath his touch, and her whispered expectations of being taught how she could please him in similar manner, almost did him in. He refrained from laughing at her ludicrous fears that he might find her expectations exceptionally difficult for him to bear and said with much seriousness, "I’ll gladly teach you that, love, and much, much more."

"Oh, Drake!" She threw her arms around him. "I love you so very much."

"And I you, Claresta." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until the front door swung open and Nan snorted loudly. "Such goings on, and in front of all and sundry, too."

"Good evening, Nan," Drake said, but did not release his hold on his soon-to-be bride.

Another nasal titter, but this one sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Claresta realized that all and sundry included her future mother-in-law who smiled broadly from the coach and didn’t seem at all disturbed by the "goings on." Nan had a point, though. She must start practicing more decorum. She would do so after she kissed Drake goodnight one more time. She did so with more intimacy than Nan had ever witnessed before.

The front door slammed, and Druscilla’s laughter could be heard a block away. Neither sound penetrated the couples cloud of amour.

EPILOGUE

Holly and garland decorated the elaborate ballroom at Norwood Manor. Chandeliers glistened and reflected light off the wood floors that servants had spent an entire day polishing with beeswax.

It was New Year’s Eve, and gala affairs given by the Earl and Countess of Norwood were so rare the servants had wanted everything perfect for the happy couple. Because of the infrequency of such gatherings and the couple’s general lack of interest in the Beau Monde, many of the upper ten thousand coveted an invitation to the country for such events. And rarely did one come away from a Norwood gathering without a lively tale to tell.

Sitting on a pair of the chairs off to one corner of the room, Druscilla Lockwood and Thurmond were in deep conversation about new laws before parliament that would prevent mistreatment of young children used as climbing boys. The Norwoods had donated a large sum to the Climbing Boy Society. Claresta strived to keep her promise to do everything possible to see that other young children like Charlie would not be misused and abused by unscrupulous chimney sweeps.

Charlie and Juny were very happy with their household positions at Norwood Manor. Although, they spent as much time roaming the countryside on the new ponies Lord Norwood had given them as they did doing their chores.

It was left to Nan to keep a close eye on Francine who was holding court before several admirers vying for her attention. The girl was a diamond of the first water. And she was being turned up sweet by every young buck in the room. Nan snorted when one pink of the ton, in his overzealous struggle to get closer, almost tumbled into the girl’s lap.

Franny had postponed her come-out, not wishing, she’d said, to overshadow her brother’s nuptials. But the upcoming Season was sure to be a success, as all the young nobles seemed quite taken by her beauty. She glanced up occasionally to seek out a certain gentleman in the crowd who wasn’t paying her tribute. Satisfied when she found Edwin watching her intently with a disapproving frown on his face, she turned back to her suitors and laughed gaily.

Lord Norwood led his wife out on the dance floor. They had been married ten months now, and he wanted to show her off. She wore a high-waisted gold silk gown with an ochre lace overdress. Her strawberry blonde curls were swept back off her face, and the top of her head was adorned with a diamond and amber tiara that matched the earrings and necklace Drake had given her when he first learned she was carrying his child.

"Are you happy, Lord Norwood?" Claresta asked dreamily.

"How could I not be, Lady Norwood? I have delighted in learning your expectations for the past ten months. I cannot wait until you have this brat, and we can get back to my enlightenment."

"You are incorrigible," she laughed.

"So I am. And what of you, Lady Norwood, are you happy?"

"How could I not be, sir, when I am in the arms of the most dashing, obedient rogue in all of England? By the bye, you simply must talk to Captain Mercer. Edwin says he refuses to haul the cargo of a much needed shipment of chicken skins."

"Chicken skins? Why ever not?"

"Well, they are in a rather raw state."

"Live?"

"Precisely."

Drake threw back his head and laughed. All eyes turned to the couple in wonder, for they paid their guests little heed, as usual. An odd breed, the Earl and Countess of Norwood.

As the handsome earl whirled his wife around the room, they had eyes only for each other. The more reserved guests shook their heads and licked their lips in anticipation of spreading the new on-dit about the ton. "Tsk, tsk," they would say. "Such poor taste for a lady in such advanced stages of enceinte to be seen in public."

Claresta felt another twinge in her lower back, but she’d had the discomfort off and on all day, and since it wasn’t a real pain, she saw no need to mention it to her husband. She wasn’t due for another month, and he was anxious enough about the upcoming birth, as it was.

However, she had laid her fears about childbearing to rest. She’d come to realize that her mother died from lack of care, and she wasn’t likely to suffer such a fate with the good Dr. Adam’s attending to things. Her husband had insisted the doctor move into Norwood Manor after she’d reached her seventh month.

She searched the room and found Dr. Adams leading Miss Peerlace onto the dance floor. Claresta thought the tall, slender lady had an ethereal glow in her features that made her rather pretty this evening.

Claresta felt another twinge, and this time her stomach contracted. Pressed tightly against Drake, she knew he must have felt the movement when he said, "The little rascal is active tonight, is he not?"

"Indeed, he is." She smiled through another contraction and saw the look of concern fade from her husband’s eyes.

Dr. Adams had told her exactly what to expect. The first birth almost always took several hours and since she’d not felt much real pain yet, she felt certain she had plenty of time. She would just finish this dance and then signal for Dr. Adams to attend her.

"Are you well, love?" Drake asked.

She did not wish to upset Drake, or make a scene. In her condition her guests would understand if she wished to retire early. She would make her excuses and leave the ballroom quietly. But first, she wished to finish the dance with her husband.

"I’ve never felt better," she said, and her left eyelid twitched.

"That does it," Drake said, and without regard to convention, he swept his wife up into his arms. Dr. Adams saw, and he and Miss Peerlace ascended the stairs behind Drake. Following them were Nan, Druscilla, Franny, Edwin, Aunt Ester, Mr. Thurmond assisting Lady Norwood, and every servant at Norwood Manor. The guests, left to fend for themselves, stood by with gaped mouths.

"Too bad Reggie is not here," Claresta said and mewled against Drake’s shoulder when a decent pain hit her this time.

"Good God, Dr. Adams do something for her. She isn’t due for another month," Drake said and laid his wife gently on the bed.

"And what could Lord Westhaven do for you, my dear?" Dr. Adams asked casually as he closed the door in the faces of the folks who had followed them upstairs after Nan shoved her way into the room.

The housekeeper shook her head when Lord Norwood refused to leave. More tittle-tattle for the gossipmongers.

Claresta held tightly to her husband’s hand. "Do not worry, dear. I may have miscalculated by a few weeks."

"Miscalculated?" Drake croaked. "Did you know of this miscalculation, Adams?" Drake’s voice was laced with accusation.

"We may have discussed the possibility a time or two," the doctor said as if it were unimportant.

"You should have told me. I would never have allowed this damned party if I’d known."

"’Tis . . . not . . . his . . . fault," Claresta puffed and panted until another painful contraction passed. "Franny deserved some entertainment after I caused her to miss out on the Season."

"Franny does not hold you at fault for that, Claresta. She’s told you that a thousand times."

Doctor Adams took a peek beneath the draped sheets and exchanged a look with the housekeeper. "Claresta, my dear, it appears you’re one of the lucky few who makes a quick and easy delivery."

"Franny is a dear sister to say soooooo . . ."

"Easy? She is in pain, Adams. Can’t you see that?"

Dr. Adams ignored the distraught father-to-be and went about checking the position of the baby and preparing his instruments for the delivery.

Once the contraction subsided, Claresta continued bantering with Dr. Adams. "If Drake had not sent Reggie off with Captain Mercer, ‘to learn how to be a man,’ as my husband succinctly put it . . ." Claresta stopped to take several quick breaths. "A gaming man like Lord Westhaven could keep the guests so interested in the outcome of the birth that they’d be quite entertained the remainder of the evening."

"Entertained, how?"

Claresta clutched at Drake’s hand.

"My wife is trying to say it is nearly midnight," Drake practically shouted.

Nonplused by the statement, Adams glanced at the clock and agreed. "So it ‘tis."

He washed his hands and dried them on the towel Nan held for him. Then he disappeared from Drake’s view behind the sheets draped over Claresta’s knees.

She cried out, "oooohhh."

"Blast it, man! You promised to take care of her."

"Drake, darling, can’t you just picture it?"

She reached for his shirtfront when he leaned over her. She must be out of her mind with pain, Drake thought, as her hold tightened.

"L-Lord Westhaven posting wagers with everyone game enough to lay down a groat on whether ‘tis to be a boy or a girl."

"Yes, yes, love. Now stay calm," he said in a high pitched voice as she grabbed his cravat in a strangle hold.

"A-And what time the babe would make his d-d-debuuuu . . ."

She screamed in such agony that every fiber of Drake’s body felt her pain, the sudden jolt of release. Relief, dismay and laughter filled the room. Drake could only stare in awe at the tiny, wiggling bundle Adams slapped on the rear.

The baby cried.

"Looks like you’ll have to try for an heir again, Norwood," Adams said and handed the little thing to Nan. Drake had never known anyone who could snort and smile at the same time.

His wife laughed.

"Are you all right, love?" Drake whispered.

She kissed his bloodless cheek and nodded.

"Good," he said, then he slid to the floor.

* * *

Once again the Norwoods were the talk of the ton as their guests took the news back to London. The event was so noteworthy The Morning Post carried the announcement on the front page.

The New Year’s ball at Norwood Manor was interrupted for the arrival of Lady Nancy Druscilla Lockwood, daughter of Lord and Lady Norwood. The babe made her debut at 12:01, January 1, 1819. Mother and daughter are doing well. The father is still recovering.