Chapter 4
As usual, Edward and Tabby were enjoying a midafternoon in Hyde Park.
Not as usual was the absence of Tencendor the horse.
Tabitha still wore Edward’s older clothes, which would have looked ridiculous had his tailoring been less precise. Still, the breeches needed to be held up by a set of braces, and the shirtsleeves fairly billowed around her diminutive frame.
“I’ve sent a note round to my tailoress so we might get you some proper clothes,” said Edward, his eyes scanning the park for signs of friends (few and far between) or foes (Lady Millicent Blatherwick, primarily).
“You mean to send me to other men dressed in breeches?” she asked, nudging him playfully.
Send her to other men. It was an accidental cut doomed to fester.
When Edward woke this morning, his body wrapped about Tabby’s back, her little arse nestled against his painfully hard cock, and his hand in hers just over her belly, he’d have taken up the sword to avoid sending her to other men.
Thankfully, the cold light of day had a way of scouring bad ideas from his mind.
She deserved to make her own way in the world, unencumbered by a scoundrel.
Edward was sitting in the park, not at all considering the next time they might share that narrow bed and how easily her hem could rise in the night.
How her thighs would feel cradling his hips.
“…didn’t know she even made dresses,” said Tabby, chattering to herself while chewing on a heel of bread she’d magicked from a pocket.
“I don’t know what she’ll propose, but she’s a most fashionable lady, and I trust that she’ll have ideas for you.”
“A lady?” asked Tabby, looking at a meandering swan with some suspicion.
“She married a lord,” said Edward, thinking of his friends fondly.
Tabby’s eyebrows drew together. “Then why does she work?”
Edward couldn’t contain his laughter. “She’s a talented tailoress! And in truth, her husband is only the fifth son of a duke. His income isn’t so great as you might think. Especially since he was something of a scapegrace before devoting himself to the worship of his wife.”
“She must be very pretty,” said Tabby wistfully.
“She’s pretty and clever and a game girl,” said Edward with a smirk. “Her husband loves her and keeps her belly full.”
It took Tabitha a moment to realize what he meant, then her eyes flew to his.
It was the first time she’d really met his eyes that day after waking to him wrapped around her. She dipped her head as if to sniff his cast-off clothes.
“Do men want their courtesans in a breeding state?” she asked, the idea suddenly sounding appealing.
“Very much no, with a few exceptions,” said Edward. “I’ll get you set up with French envelopes and seeds so you can stay working.”
Tabby sighed. “I suppose, if I must.”
He laughed and nudged her with his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll end up liking your profession.”
“Do you like yours?” she asked, sending him a glare.
“Fine, fine,” he groused. “What have you got there?”
Tabby withdrew the book Edward had been looking at in bed.
“Tabitha! You can’t bring pornographic books out in public,” he hissed, glancing around the park to see if anyone was observing them.
She tucked the volume back in her jacket but brought forth the notes from Edward’s father.
“I noticed you didn’t want to discuss your case last night.”
He scoffed.
“And you left our rooms without taking the notes this morning,” she said.
“Our rooms,” he grumbled. “Perhaps I’ve memorized the contents of the pages!”
“Fine. What does the first say?”
“I thought you couldn’t read much.”
“I can read well enough to know that you’re spinning a tale.”
“You calling me a liar, Tobias?” asked Edward, leaning close and accidentally using his friend’s old name. “Tabby,” he corrected.
She pressed the pages into his breastbone, stubborn as ever, and met his glare. “Your horse is in the hands of a, well, a, a terrible person!”
“How do you know he’s bad? What if I’m spinning tales about him?”
“You doubt your father is an evil person?” she asked, horror dawning on her face. “He’s holding Tencendor hostage! And he abandoned you when you needed him!”
“He intervened to keep my neck out of the noose,” said Edward, rising from the bench, agitated and needing to move his legs.
“And then left you with no support when he has plenty of coin? You wouldn’t do that to me, and I’m not even your heir!”
“Yes, but you’re…” Edward walked back and forth, then changed tack. “What if I’m all those things he says I am?”
“I don’t know what he’s claimed, but even my da, a dumb ol’ blunderbuss who drowned in shite, wasn’t so awful as yours.”
Edward took his seat on the bench again.
“You’re ducking in every alley you come across to dodge this problem,” said Tabby, shaking the notes. “I’ve seen people with the bailiff on ’em for debts look less spooked.”
Edward felt his shoulders curl in. There was something in his throat, stuck, and he didn’t think he could allow it to escape.
“Let me help you,” she said softly. Just four words uttered like the tenderest caress, and he was butter on hot bread.
“Very well,” he said, taking those dratted papers in hand and trying to make out the writing.
“The ouvidor,” said Edward. “Portuguese magistrate.”
“Portugal. I thought you were fighting them,” said Tabby, still attempting to read the notes.
“The Portuguese?” hooted Edward. “Hardly. We were allies in sending Bonaparte back to France. Or at least trying.”
“So this man was your friend?” asked Tabby, poking at the place she’d made out the title ouvidor.
“He didn’t like me much at all,” said Edward with a fond smile on his face. “But his wife, Dona Leonor Teresa, had very different feelings.”
Tabby gasped in mock horror. “You romanced the wives of foreign nobs, too?”
“I needed to uphold the honor of the Shiny Tenth,” he said with a sniff and then explained. “The 10th Hussars, sponsored by Prinny himself.”
“Oh, you were strong fighters,” said Tabby, going back to studying the page.
“We were mostly known for being lordlings who drank, dueled, and chased women,” said Edward, a little ashamed to admit as much now. “Good horsemen, though.”
“That sounds more likely, yes,” said Tabby, consulting the second sheet.
Edward stood from the bench again in a snit. “What’s that mean?”
“You were a toff, doing toff things.” She leveled him a quelling glance. “Sit down and block the wind. I’m getting cold.”
He settled beside her again and leaned over to regard the page.
“Three officers,” he said, pointing each name out. “The Honourable Colonel Henry Giffard, Major Thomas Camville, and Lord Blount, a captain at the time.”
She moaned. “Why do their names have to be so long?”
Edward waved his hand. “Army ranks plus nobility, but just call them the colonel, the major, and the captain for now.”
“Why would they…?”
“Why would they fabricate proof of treason? Best to ask Mrs. Giffard, Mrs. Camville, and Lady Blount.”
“You didn’t.”
“I most certainly did,” he said with a snort. “At least I think I did. Hard to recall this many years later.”
“Did you even fight in Portugal between all of that drinking and rogering?”
“Now, see here, miss,” said Edward, pinching Tabby’s thigh. “Your gentlemen will like you more if you pretend to only know filthy words and acts because they taught them to you. You can’t say things like ‘rogering’ to a baronet.”
“Even as he’s asking about rogering me?” she asked blankly.
“Absolutely not. That’s the rule: if you do filthy things, you must appear a perfect lady. At least if you want to command the most coin.”
“But if I’m a perfect lady, why wouldn’t he go to the lady he already has?” she asked. “The one he’s already keeping in furs and chocolate?”
“You should appear a lady. The moment the door to the outside world closes, you may act like the veriest little slut, if you so desire. But the more you play a lady, the greater the stacks of banknotes and jewels in your strongbox.”
Neither of them noticed that they’d drawn closer on the bench, their hips resting alongside each other and noses almost touching. If they had noticed it, they might have waved it away as an attempt to stay warm in the wind or some other nonsense.
“So men visit courtesans and expect them to behave like ladies,” said Tabby, struggling to make sense of things. “And other men roger those men’s wives and treat them like harlots.”
Edward considered her statement and nodded. “That’s more or less true, yes.”
“Then why don’t men just marry their mistresses or roger their wives like they want? Rather like having more than one pair of boots, isn’t it?”
“Well, aristocrats do have more than one pair of boots.”
Tabby kicked the dirt. “Silly.”
“So says the person who sold the pair of boots I gave her! And you’re wearing my second pair right now!”
She slumped on the bench. “I’m sorry, Edward,” she said. “And I’m sorry you had to sell Tencendor. I’m sorry I’m such a silly—”
“There now,” he said, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders and tugging her close. Damn anyone who might look their way and see two men in an embrace; the wind was something fierce today.
“It’s just, I was trying to stay your friend! Everything was changing, and then I woke up and the doctor knew I wasn’t Tobias and—”
Edward tugged her even closer. “I won’t hear another word of it.”
“But I—”
“The one thing we did right in the 10th was to never quit marching. Or in our case, riding. Always keep the boots or horse in motion. You listening to me? We will not set up camp in this place. We’re passing through.”
Tabby looked about. “I don’t think we can sleep in the park, Dick Stone.”
“It’s a metaphor,” he said, his arms outstretched. “We need to carry on with our lives.”
“Like solving who set you up for treason,” she said.
“Like solving—now see here, Tabitha!” he howled as she took off at a run while he chased her, not giving a single damn who saw them playing like children.
***
In Dick Stone’s familiar office at the back of Mr. Rymer’s barber shop, Edward and Tabby stuck their heads together again to make sense of those pages of notes.
“If the villain is this Portuguese judge man—”
“It’s pointless to try to solve the case from London, yes,” said Edward, nodding his head in agreement.
“Why do you think your da wrote about these three army men?” asked Tabby, consulting the names. “The colonel, the major, and the captain.”
Edward leaned back in his chair and thought hard while taking a sip of water from the silver flask that used to be Tabby’s. She swiped it from him when he was done and took her own drink.
“Now, who said I wanted to share?” he asked.
“That’s it!” she cried, pointing to the list. “Ladies don’t have names, not written down and important.”
“Well…”
“Is your da the sort that would think so much about ladies if they weren’t important?”
“He doesn’t think anyone is important,” Edward scoffed.
“Unless they’re involved in this treason case. Personally.”
“So it’s Mrs. Giffard, Mrs. Camville, or Lady Blount who holds the key,” mused Edward.
“You really rogered every wife in your regiment?” asked Tabby doubtfully. “Didn’t you need to…shoot things occasionally?”
“Oh, I shot plenty of loads while in Portugal,” muttered Edward.
Tabby groaned and slapped the table. “Think! Maybe if we can find out which wives you meddled with, we can look closer at a jealous husband.”
Edward regarded the pages and then slumped in his chair. “I don’t have the slightest idea,” he said. “I keep those coded notes now so I can recall my activities, but in those days, I was sticking my cock anywhere it was invited.”
“You didn’t keep a diary?”
“A diary?” he exclaimed. “If so, the courts would have seized it as evidence several times over in divorce cases. Most nights, I went to bed too drunk on fucking and Madeira to scratch out words.”
“If you saw the ladies, do you think you’d know them?” asked Tabby, frowning at the names.
“I’d likely recognize them best without their dresses, but failing that, I suppose I could look at their faces and try to remember.”
Tabby nodded and rose, swaying on her feet when she first stood.
“Boots too large?” asked Edward.
“I’m tired,” she admitted. “Feed me a meat pie and take me home.”
“Gladly,” he said, grabbing his hat and gloves.