Sin With A Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club)

Chapter 35

Chapter

Thirty-Five

L ady Carol hadn’t taken to her bed, as Tina had feared. In fact she was quite chirpy since the highway robbery; it seemed to have put things into perspective for her in a way nothing else had. And Sir Thomas had a look in his eyes when he smiled at her that made her heart beat just a little bit faster, as it used to when they were young.

Silly really, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to help the way she felt. It was as if they had fallen in love all over again.

“My dear, my dear!”

Her husband’s voice brought her from her reverie, and Lady Carol hurried from her parlor and into the study. She could run quite fast now there was barely any furniture to impede her journey, for although they were still in their home in Mallory Street, the house itself was almost empty.

Sir Thomas was standing at his desk, the day’s post before him. There were several discarded bills, but that was commonplace nowadays. It was the open parcel that caught Lady Carol’s eye, and the gleaming booty within its nest of brown paper wrapping.

“Is that . . . ?”

She came closer, hands clasped, and peered down at her necklace of pearls within the packaging.

“Your pearls, my dear. And my old fob watch, too. Who on earth sent them back to us?”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “The highwayman? But no, he was a repulsive fellow! Those horrid eyes. Such a pale blue color. Like ice. I don’t believe he would do anything so charitable.”

Charles, hearing the commotion, had also arrived in the study, and now he expressed his wonder at the arrival of the parcel. But he’d overheard his mother’s final remarks, and something about them struck a chord in his memory.

“Mama, you haven’t mentioned that fellow’s eyes before.”

“I try not to think about him, Charles,” she retorted.

“Yes, but, Mama I think . . . that is, he sounds very like . . . oh dash it, perhaps I’m making a mountain out of a badger hill.”

“Mole hill, my boy,” Sir Thomas corrected him fondly. “Just tell us what you’re thinking, and we will tell you whether it is important.”

Relieved, Charles proceeded to remind them about Tina’s meeting with the thief in the library at Arlington Hall and what he had since heard of the man’s description.

“Sir Henry spoke to me about it when I went to talk to him about Horace.”

“Poor Horace”—Lady Carol sighed—“but he will go associating with undesirables. Perhaps he has learned his lesson now.”

“Lord Montague is doing his best to free him, but Sir Henry seems to have more power than the prime minister,” Charles grumbled.

“Yes, yes, but what is it about this highwayman that reminded you of Tina’s man?” Sir Thomas interrupted. “Do stick to the point, Charles.”

“His eyes!” Charles burst out. “She said he had cold pale blue eyes. A killer’s eyes.”

Lady Carol shuddered violently, and Sir Thomas had to take her into his arms to comfort her. Charles looked on dubiously.

“I think we should tell Sir Henry,” he said, when he thought his elderly parents had indulged themselves enough in this hugging nonsense. “And that the pearls and fob watch have been returned. It is very odd, and he’ll want to know. It’s the sort of thing that might happen if the thief was sorry and wanted to make amends.”

“That creature who robbed us wouldn’t want to make amends,” Lady Carol said.

“No, but his master might. And from what Sir Henry said there is a chap in charge of Branson and this thief, someone they call the Captain.”

Sir Thomas nodded. “Very well, Charles, tell Sir Henry if you think it will help to catch this Captain and clear Horace’s name.”

“And bring Tina home!” his wife wailed. “I want my little girl here, safe, with me.”

“Sir Henry says—” began Charles, only to stop as his parents turned to glare at him. “As you please,” he muttered, and retreated from the room. Sir Henry would be very interested in what he had to say, and with luck he might visit Horace at the same time.

Sir Henry was interested, and afterward, with Sir Henry’s permission, Charles did manage to get in to see his friend.

Poor Horace was being kept prisoner at a house not far from Whitehall, and although it was a nice house and certainly not a prison cell, he was still being prevented from leaving.

“It is John Little,” he said as soon as Charles explained about the highwayman.

“But the eyes?—”

“No, you fool, not the highwayman. The fellow in charge. I’ve told them, but they won’t listen. I remember seeing him at that inn on the way to Kent. I was going to see that pretty ladybird I was fond of at the time. Her husband was out of the country, and it was the only chance we had. And now the doxy refuses to admit I was with her!”

Horace pulled at his hair in such a way Charles feared he might make himself bald.

“Now, now,” he soothed, “you know we’re all on your side, old chap. Just stay calm, and we’ll get you out of here.”

Horace’s face darkened. “It’s that swine Eversham. He wants Tina, and he thinks with me locked up his way is clear.”

Charles frowned. “Steady on, Horace. Eversham seemed genuinely concerned about Tina, and even Sir Henry believes she is in real danger.”

Horace muttered something his friend chose not to hear. For a time they sat in silence while a clock ticked on the mantel.

“I’ve asked Anne to marry me,” he said at last, a little shyly. “Haven’t told anyone else yet. I’m going to see her father when this business is all over, and I hope he’ll give me his permission.”

Horace eyed him sourly. “Well good luck with that. Maybe I’ll be out of this gaol by the time you have your fortieth wedding anniversary.”

Horace wasn’t himself these days, Charles decided, but he wouldn’t hold it against him. Besides, Charles was far too happy at the moment to spend any time being miserable. He was in love, and if luck was on his side, then soon he would be married to the most beautiful woman in the world.

Sir Henry was mulling over the information Charles Smythe had brought to him. It sounded very strange, and yet his instincts told him there was a connection. Sutton the highwayman had been hanging about the Hall for a reason, and that could well be a meeting with the Captain. Branson had admitted as much although he still insisted the Captain was Lord Horace Gilfoyle. Lord Montague—suddenly Lord Horace’s best friend—was furious and threatening all sorts of action, but so far Sir Henry had managed to keep the reins in his own hands.

Not for long, though. Lord Horace knew some powerful people, and they were all lobbying on his behalf.

He sat down and picked up a pen, dipping it into a pot of ink. He would write at once to Richard in Kent, warning him of the latest developments. Sir Henry just hoped everything down there was going to plan. And from now on, he was going to keep a very close eye on John Little.