Chapter 6
Emma, Lance, and a maid hired to accompany them to the Somerville ball sat in the traveling coach Lance had engaged for the evening.
He sat across from Emma and the sleeping maid, as the coachman took them over smooth roads.
Lance pulled Emma over to sit beside him. “Even though Diana is ill, I’m relieved you decided to come to the ball, my dear. The excitement will be good for us both.”
Lance and she had explained to the maid earlier that day that they were affianced, and that Em had hired her to be their chaperone, so to speak, for the evening.
The girl, who worked at the Old Ship, had thrilled to the opportunity.
Her immediate concern had been what she herself should wear and she’d hurried off to her friends to consult them.
She’d worked herself into a frazzle, it seemed, because she slept—snored, really—all through the journey to Normanton House.
“I wish Diana had felt well enough to come,” Em said.
“She’ll rest and be the better for it in the morning,” he whispered as he put his arm around Emma and drew her near.
“Di caught that cough walking in early morning along the beach without a proper wool coat.”
“Thanks to Mademoiselle Vernet,” he said, “she has one now.”
“I won’t let her go so early in the morning though. She must wait for the afternoon and full sunshine.”
“Her reason for going so early was honorable.” Lance commended Em’s cousin for her attempt to comb the coast for sight of the Bow Street Runner.
“But none of us,” Em said with a small smile, “has seen him again.”
“He’s on the trail of a true suspect.”
Emma grinned at him and cupped his cheek. “That would be smart of him.”
Lance took her hand and dropped a kiss to her palm. “We are embarking on the new phase of our lives together. Tonight, I plan to dance with you until your slippers fall off.”
Giggling, she pecked him on the cheek.
* * *
Sir Peter Somerville and his wife of eleven years, Penelope, stood near the orchestra dais, looking well-pleased with themselves and each other.
“Your friend from school is a charming lady,” Lance offered.
“She is.” Emma recalled how Penelope had remained steadfast, writing often, offering stories about her debut and wedding, encouraging her to attend and accepting her refusal, yet making Emma feel as though she was a part of the social whirl.
“Always was. We’ve kept up a correspondence for more than sixteen years. A true friend, she certainly is.”
“There are a few good-looking gentlemen here. Bachelors, at that. Diana would have enjoyed herself.”
“She’ll have her day. I’ll see to it.”
Lance glanced out over those dancing to the latest country round. “Do you resent not having had your debut and a chance to—”
She put a hand to his chest to stop him.
“No. It was so long ago and in many ways, I did dread the constant round of receptions and balls. I find so many rules of society to be restrictive and others silly. Those things I fear, not only for me but for others. Besides, as I heard of others like Penelope who found good lives within the restrictions and sometimes despite them, I had already found a man I loved—”
“And by his silliness,” he said looking repentant, “he took from you the chance to find a better man.”
“Oh, Lance,” she said, wanting to rid him once and for all of his remorse, “you are the best man I have ever known. I love you. Never—”
He clamped one of his hands atop hers. “Em, look who is here.”
“What? Who?” She looked around to pause at the sight of the Somerville butler introducing Sir Peter and Penelope to the man whom she and Lance had assumed was a Bow Street Runner.
“No,” she breathed. “No.”
“Don’t panic.”
“But,” she gulped, “why is he here?”
Lance narrowed his gaze on their host and hostess. “They have a long conversation.”
Two of the other guests whom Lance and she had met appeared in front of them. The Marquess of Corey and his wife were newlyweds and looked every bit enchanted with each other.
The Marquess knit his brows. “I heard Sir Peter tell others earlier that they’d had a visit from a Runner. He searched for a highwayman. Been a nuisance here in the South Downs from what I hear. Calls himself Captain Moonlight.”
Emma leaned back against Lance, who braced her, hands to her waist. “When was he here to speak with Sir Peter?”
“Yesterday morning,” said the marquess. “I saw the fellow arrive. In a rush, he was. My wife and I were out walking in the garden.”
“Do you know if he has found his man?” Lance asked.
“I have no idea,” said the marquess. “Let’s see what he does.”
* * *
What the man did was come straight for Lance and Emma. Accompanied by their host and hostess, the fellow stood politely and waited as Sir Peter introduced them all around.
Lance suppressed his anger that the man would single them out in front of other guests. Emma had gone white as a ghost when the man arrived at their sides. Lance would not have her suffer any more insults. She was his to protect.
Officer Robert Pierce was his name, and almost in contradiction of Lance’s supposition, he was a polite and articulate chap. “I am pleased to meet you both. I wonder, Miss Tomkins and Lord Weatherby, if you would join me in a private conversation?”
Sir Peter and his wife took a step back and engaged the marquess and his wife as Emma and Lance followed Pierce out of the crowded ballroom.
At the doorway, Normanton’s butler spoke with Pierce and the servant led them onward to the morning room.
Then he shut the double doors to afford them seclusion.
“What is this about, Sergeant?” Lance stood, in no mood for more niceties. “We’ve seen you out and about in Brighton.”
“I knew you were aware of my presence, my lord.” He took up a spot by the sculpted marble fireplace and, hands behind his back, shot up and down on his toes.
Nervous, was he?
Odd. Runners tended to be overconfident in their demeanor.
“I was in Brighton on assignment. I searched for three criminals. We are short of staff, you see.”
Lance cocked a brow, impatience making him boil. “And?”
Emma, who had taken a seat on the yellow chintz settee, stirred. “Who are they? What have they done?”
Pierce smacked his lips. “I searched for a highwayman. One with and another without an accomplice. This Captain Moonlight, as some call one, is a jokester and has caused all kinds of problems and consternation.”
“He is the one who steals men’s trousers?” Lance asked.
“As far as I have learned, yes. But he has a streak of retribution in him too.”
“How so?” asked Emma.
“One of his victims was a corrupt revenuer who was blackmailing a pub owner.”
“And you know this because,” Lance said as he dared to breathe more easily, “you have caught him?”
“Last night.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open.
Lance had stopped breathing.
“I also have assurances…” Pierce paused to roll his eyes about the room, indicating Sir Peter was his source of information, “that he will not ride again.”
“You believe that?” Lance asked.
“One takes the word of a gentleman, doesn’t one, Lord Weatherby?” Pierce held Lance’s gaze like a magnet.
“Indeed.”
“As I now will take yours.” Pierce stopped rising up and down on his toes.
Lance stared at the man—and knew what he had to do. “I am no highwayman, Sergeant Pierce.”
Emma stared up at Lance, her relief coming with a gasp.
“I know you are not, my lord. I have spoken with the coachman who brought you, Miss Tomkins her cousin, and Miss Frobisher to Brighton.”
“He told you,” Emma said, brightening, “that what Lord Weatherby did was in jest?”
“To kiss you, Miss Tomkins?” Pierce chuckled. “Indeed!”
“He’s done that before,” she said.
“That I learned, too, from the person who wrote a story for a newspaper. While I could ask why you did this once more, Lord Weatherby, I do understand that a man who wishes to gain favor with a lady does…shall we say, odd things.”
“Very odd,” Lance said. “Sometimes rather rash, as well.”
“So true.” Pierce smiled broadly.
“Clarify for us, Sergeant Pierce,” Lance went on, “who the third criminal was whom you sought.”
The man smiled. “A thief of great skills. Robbing travelers in and out of London for more than two years. Always kept us at Bow Street on our toes, changing routes, tactics, feeding folks food tidbits with laudanum in them, sometimes sharing a special tea with unhealthy doses of the poppy. We were run wild trying to find her.”
“Her?” Both Lance and Emma asked as one.
“Shocking to think her so skilled, eh? She’d change her hair color often.
A wig of course. She’d change her accent.
East End, one time. Scots, the next. Irish, too.
A real charmer. This time, she was careless and told her escapades to a publican in the Lanes, yesterday. She likes her whisky, poor thing.”
“Miss Frobisher!” Emma clapped her hands together. Her laughter rivaled her shock. “Oh, my!”
“I put her in gaol this afternoon, ready for the Sussex assizes. Funny lady. I wish she were an honest one.” Pierce inclined his head in a bit of homage.
“I was following you both on the beach that first morning. But later, to the dressmaker’s shop, it was she I trailed.
I collected information as I could. Your coachman was helpful as well as the newspaper reporter.
But now, I came tonight to relieve you both of any worry. ”
Emma shot to her feet, offering her hands to the Runner. “Thank you for this, Mr. Pierce.”
Lance shook hands with the man. “This means a lot to us that you took time to do this.”
“It is my duty and my pleasure. I assume you, sir, will not play at the highwayman again?”
“Never.”
“Good man. I take my leave. Enjoy the evening.” He stepped away but stopped to turn at the door. “I understand congratulations are in order. You are to marry soon.”
“We are.” Lance beamed, his arm around Emma.
“Long overdue, it is.” Emma grinned.
“Better late than never, eh?” Pierce said. “Some things are meant to be, regardless of what society dictates.”
“So true,” Lance told Emma after the Runner left them. “Some people are meant to love each other, no matter what society rules.” His kiss affirmed that all was at peace. “We are to marry in two days and whom God hath joined together decades ago, no one will ever again put asunder.”