Chapter 23 #3
“You may have to start including her in your investigations,” Hadrian said. “She’s developing an excellent skill for deduction. I wonder if that’s something that happens to all of us who are fortunate to be in your orbit.”
Tilda rolled her eyes, and he laughed, for he was trying to provoke her humor.
“She wouldn’t have believed this was a social excursion, anyway.” Hadrian froze briefly. Unless… “Did you tell her about our courtship?”
“I didn’t have to, as it happens.” She slid him a sideways glance. “She was not asleep the other night in the coach after the theatre.”
“I see.” Hadrian tried to recall what had happened in the coach whilst Mrs. Wren had been “sleeping.” Had they kissed? No, he would never have done that with Tilda’s grandmother occupying the coach with them. Then he remembered. “She saw us holding hands.”
“I’m afraid I had to tell her the truth.”
Hadrian wasn’t sure he liked her choice of words. “Did you not want to?”
“I’d hoped to wait until after the investigation was finished, but I’m glad I didn’t.” She smiled. “Grandmama was most supportive and advised me not to rush into anything. I appreciated her saying that, for I expected her to be so overjoyed that she would want to make wedding plans immediately.”
Hadrian found no fault with that. “Was she not happy?”
“She absolutely was.” Tilda laughed. “Her greatest wish is for me to be wed. She worries about who will care for me when she’s gone. Rather, I think she’s concerned that I will need someone to care for.”
Hadrian laughed with her. “The latter is the greater concern, I think. Though, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding someone to care for. You simply can’t help yourself.”
“In any case, Grandmama is delighted for she adores you. And she knows this is a secret courtship. For now.”
Those words—for now—he liked. And the adoration of Mrs. Wren made him quite happy.
They arrived at the gardens, and Leach held the door as they departed the coach.
The coachman’s dark eyes shone with anticipation.
“I’ll be keeping a close eye on the entrance, just as you instructed, my lord.
If I see that menace, Spring-heeled Jack, I’ll follow him inside.
” In the event something like that happened, a groom had accompanied them and would drive the coach if necessary.
“Excellent, Leach.” Hadrian inclined his head before escorting Tilda toward the pay-box where he would pay their admission. A massive gaslit star illuminated the area.
The evening was warm, heralding that summer would soon be upon them.
He took in Tilda’s old blue gown with its over-full skirt.
It was the same she’d worn to the theatre the other night.
Whilst it may be out of fashion, the color was lovely and she radiated beauty and confidence.
Hadrian decided she would look alluring even if she wore rags.
After Hadrian paid the entrance fee, they walked into the gardens. Tilda sent him an excited smile. “I’ve never been anywhere like this. I can hardly conceive of all there is to do.”
“I came here often a decade or so ago. My friends and I would watch the circus acts or whatever special performance was playing. We mostly drank too much wine and flirted with young ladies.”
“That sounds rather carefree.”
It was, and Hadrian knew that was a far cry from what Tilda had needed to do at the same age.
She’d already been managing her grandmother’s household.
“We’ll come back another time this summer when we’re not focused on an investigation.
We’ll dine in one of the supper boxes and dance around the pagoda. ”
She sent him a faint grimace. “You know I don’t dance. Surely that should disqualify me from becoming a countess.”
Hadrian paused along the path and regarded her with concern. “Are you looking for reasons to deny my suit?”
“I don’t have to look for them, Hadrian,” she said quietly. “They are right there staring us in the face. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to deny you. It only means I’m nervous and still deciding.”
“Good.” Hadrian started walking once more as he patted her hand that clutched his right arm. “There are many reasons you would be an excellent countess, and I counter that those are also staring us in the face.” He sent her a confident look, and she laughed.
They arrived in the central part of the gardens where the pagoda was located. It was surrounded by a huge dance floor that could support thousands of people on any given night. An orchestra played from the pagoda.
“We’ve plenty of time until eight, if you’d like to explore the gardens a bit,” Hadrian suggested.
“All right,” Tilda replied. “So long as we don’t move too far away from this area. I wouldn’t mind going down a few paths to see if we can find the bench marked with the ribbon.”
Making their way about, they recognized constables and pretended not to. They even saw Teague at one point and simply strolled right by him. On the third path they took from the main area, they found the bench. Mr. Redmayne had already dropped the bag in place.
Hadrian glanced about surreptitiously and located one of the constables who’d been assigned to watch over the bag. He and his wife sat together on another bench across the path and appeared to be having a romantic evening. Hadrian hoped he and Tilda might have an assignment like that someday.
When the eight o’clock hour passed, they were back in the main area. Hadrian found his pulse was moving more quickly. “Any time now,” he murmured.
“Raven? Is that you?” A male voice called from several feet in front of them. The man walked toward them, coming from the supper boxes, with three other young gentlemen.
Hadrian recognized him as he grew near and had to swallow a curse.
The young, relatively new MP, Cecil Blyth, was boisterous and nearly always talking—mostly about inconsequential gossip rather than pertinent business.
He was just about the last person Hadrian would have wanted to recognize him tonight.
It was most frustrating, as Hadrian had gone to great trouble to blend into the crowd. Was his costume not drab enough?
“It is you,” Blyth said loudly. He turned his head toward his friends. “This is the Earl of Ravenhurst. I told you I know important people,” he taunted with a laugh.
“Are you sure, Blyth?” one of them asked as he joined them. He swept his gaze over Hadrian. “Doesn’t look like an earl to me.”
Blyth’s brow furrowed with confusion. “He doesn’t usually dress like this.” He tried to fix his gaze on Hadrian, but he was quite foxed. “Why are you dressed like a shopkeeper or perhaps an undertaker?” The other men sniggered.
The third of the four men brushed up against Blyth and spoke in an overloud whisper. “The earl might be here seeking female entertainment.” He shot Tilda a suggestive leer before elbowing Blyth.
Hadrian opened his mouth to verbally eviscerate the young man, but Tilda clutched his arm tightly. “Let us be on our way,” she murmured.
“No, Raven isn’t that type, as far as I know.
” Blyth took a step forward and narrowed his eyes at Tilda as he regarded her intently.
Hadrian was about to tell him to take himself off when the young MP’s face lit.
“I know who this is! This is that notorious lady detective he’s always gadding about with. ”
Hadrian fought the urge to push Blyth to the ground. “You must pardon us.”
“Are you here in disguise so no one knows you’re together?” Blyth asked, his eyes rounding. “No! You’re on a case. Are you catching a thief? Perhaps a murderer?” He looked around at his friends who were now all staring eagerly and curiously at Tilda and Hadrian, clearly titillated by the encounter.
Fortunately, they were spared further awkwardness by a bright white flash to their right.
“Bloody hell!” someone yelled near them, and Hadrian realized it was one of the young men, who’d spun around toward the flash.
“It’s Spring-heeled Jack!” someone called.
Some people ran forward to get closer whilst many ran away from the flash. Tilda, of course raced toward the spectacle, and Hadrian followed.
“There!” Tilda pointed to a dark, flowing cape. His white leather costume was clearly visible beneath the cloak as was the matching mask that covered Mobray’s face. “We’ve got him!”
Mobray lifted his arm in a dramatic fashion, then a giant blue flame leapt from his mouth. But something went wrong. The flame did not extinguish. The hood of the cloak glowed blue.
“Oh my god, he’s on fire,” Tilda breathed.