Chapter Eleven
“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING US?” Charlotte gripped the side of the curricle, bracing herself for Muriel’s wild turn.
“St. James Street!” Muriel called, gritting her teeth and fighting the urge to close her eyes at the terror of driving a pair of horses through London. There were far too many obstacles for comfort, and some of them weren’t even stationary. But after yesterday’s party at the Merrions’ where Lord Traneford played her doting escort, Muriel set aside her fears of driving the curricle and took Charlotte with her to end her suspicions of Lord Traneford once and for all.
She could not trust Lady Ingram’s generous assessment of the man’s intentions, not after his horrendous first introduction to her. She had forgiven him, but she doubted his change of heart, especially after Erik’s declaration that the man had been a trial as a boy and at university. However, working in Egypt did put him in a more favorable light, as surely it took some amount of character to relinquish one’s comfortable lifestyle in pursuit of passion and bugs.
“Pardon me, Miss Muriel. Did you say you were directing us toward the male precinct after the morning hours?” Charlotte’s voice rose as they narrowly avoided a potato vendor and his cart. “You told Lady Ingram we were just going for a leisurely drive, and I daresay, this is neither leisurely nor just a drive. The acceptable hours for shopping in the precinct have already passed and—”
“We are going for a drive.” Muriel lifted the reins to demonstrate. “It just happens to be by route of St. James Street. I need to know if Lord Traneford is a changed gentleman who had a bad night, or if he really is a rogue with a plan for my fortune. I do not wish to repeat my past by allowing myself to hold a gentleman in affection who does not deserve it. As for the time, we had to wait after the morning hours to ensure he had departed his residence for the club.”
Charlotte gripped her bonnet as the curricle ran over a sack that had fallen off the wagon in front of them. “And this doesn’t repeat your past actions? You know St. James Street is all but forbidden to ladies.”
“Don’t be so humdrum, Charlotte. It’s not as if I am going to halt the carriage and propose to a stranger in the middle of the busy road.” She snapped the ribbons, following the street signs she had studied this morning on the City map hanging in Sir Alexander’s library. “Lord Traneford has rooms in this precinct, and I wish to ascertain from his kitchen staff if he entertains as my previous fiancé, Sir Josiah Montgomery. I cannot suffer a third jilting.”
Charlotte pressed her lips into a firm line, knowing exactly what Muriel was referring to. “Couldn’t you just send someone else to inquire on your behalf, miss? Perhaps the Ingrams’ footman?”
“I do not know the Ingrams’ staff well enough. What if one of them mentions it about town that I was looking into Lord Traneford’s past? It would seem as if I had set my cap for the viscount when I most certainly have not. I am aware this plan is fraught with potential scandal if we are caught, but I have no other recourse. My father instructed me to verify a gentleman’s character before accepting his suit, and that is exactly what I am about.” She directed the curricle to the back entrance of his St. James residence, carefully fixing the horses to the post. She righted the odious bonnet she had spent all morning trimming with Elena and stepped up to the door and knocked. Charlotte scrambled down and stood beside her, nervously folding and unfolding her hands before her skirt.
A footman opened the door, his eyes widening at the sight of two women on his back step. He met Charlotte’s gaze for a moment before returning to Muriel. Though dressed in her plainest driving gown, Muriel’s station was clear. “Miss?”
“Hello, I was wondering if I might speak with the housekeeper?”
“Lord Traneford doesn’t employ one here—just me and my sister who is the maid and also does the cooking. His housekeeper sees after his and his mother’s country estate during the season when his lordship is in London.”
“May I speak with the maid of the house?”
Confusion flitted through his expression. He slowly nodded and waved them inside. “May I ask your name first?”
Now came the difficult part. How to remain anonymous when I don’t wish to seem in need of a madhouse or as if I am planning a robbery.
Charlotte stepped forward. “We wish to inquire after Lord Traneford’s character. How long have you known him?”
His eyes widened. “I—I don’t think I can discuss such things with two women I have only just met and whose names I don’t even know.”
Charlotte smiled at him, even going as far as fluttering her thick lashes. “As you can to see, this fine lady is no servant. She is an acquaintance of his and wishes to see if he is a worthy match for a friend.” She leaned forward. “A very wealthy friend, so she must be certain of his character before she recommends him.”
“I see.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“Who is at the door, William?” A pretty girl with riotous brown curls joined him, casting curious glances to the women. William informed her of their request as rain broke through the dark clouds. She motioned them further inside. “Lord Traneford is a good man to work for and has been nothing but respectful to me and my brother. He does have a tendency to get buried in his work, though, and creates the most frightful messes with all his bugs and wings spread over his desk.”
“And for pleasure? What does he pursue?” Muriel dared to ask.
“He enjoys racing in his curricle, hunting, and cards,” the footman interjected. “Though, I should mention that he no longer plays freely with his money. He is determined to keep the family name honorable after the actions of his youth.” William cleared his throat and rested his hand on the maid’s shoulder. “We’ve most likely said too much, so if you’ll excuse us.”
Charlotte nodded her thanks. “Very good. Well then, he may do quite nicely for your friend, eh miss?”
“And who is your friend, may I ask?” the maid said, brows lifted.
Muriel retreated to the door. “As you said, we should be on our way.”
A bell rang in the kitchen and William turned to see which bell was summoning him. “Looks like the viscount has returned early and is ready for his nuncheon in the library. If you will follow me, ladies, I am certain the viscount will wish to see who is inquiring after him.”
With his latest guest enjoying his cup of tea, Erik held back a sigh as he poured himself a seventh cup. He could hardly bear to look at it, much less drink it, after spending the past two hours in the gentlemen’s club sifting through stories. Even though he was under strict advice to let the case of Requin lie and hand over the title of Warrick to his second-in-command, he did not wish for three years of work to grow cold by giving in to fear.
However, his plan to converse with the gentlemen from the grocers’ guild that he suspected were involved with Requin and who frequented the clubs had been excruciating. The task required him to question every merchant without their suspecting him, which resulted in his now knowing more than he ever wished to about silks and satins and the latest of fashions brought over from the war. Perhaps many years ago, when he’d considered becoming captain of his own merchant vessel, the news would have interested him. He was a different man now with a new destiny. He had no desire for the peaceful life of a simple merchant.
One last gentleman merchant, Draycott.“I heard tell you and your brothers inherited your father’s fleet of merchant vessels?” He forced enthusiasm into his tone. “How does your business fare?”
“Indeed, we did. My father had us take over the family business more than three years ago. We ship dry goods mostly—some high-quality tea too. Got us a goldfinch who pays a cod of money for us to stand in for his usual supplier if needed.”
He stiffened at the mention of tea … that had been the conduit of his latest interception. “A goldfinch, you say?” Erik handed him a plateful of pastries.
Mr. Coates nodded and selected a tart. “You might know his business—Fletcher’s Tea Shop? He has shops all over England.”
Fletcher?Erik nearly spilled his cup of tea. Was Muriel’s father involved with the smuggler? Surely not. He swallowed and set aside his cup. “Do you run ships for him regularly?”
“Like I said, only when his other supplier falls through. It’s only happened a handful of times over the years. When it does—” He released a low whistle. “We are flushed in the pockets.”
“Thank you, Mr. Coates.” Erik rose. “I must be away. Do enjoy the plate of pastries with my compliments.” Erik slammed on his beaver hat as he strode out of the gentlemen’s club. He reached for his horse’s reins with his good hand, vaulted into the saddle, and nudged his horse into a walk. It was still a little painful to manage with one arm in a sling, but it was better than having to take a hired coach about the City. He had turned onto St. James Street toward his London house when he spied two women in a curricle careening around one of the apartments. He frowned. Judging by their mode of transportation alone, he knew a fine lady was present.
He squinted. Is that Muriel? What on earth is she doing down here at this hour? His latest conversation pressing on him, Erik urged his horse into a trot and caught up with the rushing vehicle. Gentlemen passing on the sidewalks cheered and called out to Muriel in the most untoward manner. If his arm would allow, he would halt his horse and box their ears. I could still take any of these young bucks with one arm. He gritted his teeth against one comment in particular and rode up beside the curricle. “Miss Beau!”
Her face paled. “Erik? What on earth are you doing here?”
“I was going to ask you the same question, Miss B—”
She shook her head so violently her overlarge and quite hideous bonnet was in danger of toppling from her head. “I would prefer it if you would not shout my name in the middle of St. James Street. It hardly bodes well for anonymity.”
He frowned. “And with such a request, you seem to be well aware you should not be here at this hour. This is the men’s precinct and—”
“I know. I had my reasons.” She snapped the reins at the call of another youth and directed the horses as quickly as possible to another, safer street.
Erik sent the dandy a scowl and easily overtook her as she exited the precinct. “As a close family friend of the Ingrams, I must insist you tell me what you were about.”
Muriel frowned at him, pulling back on the reins to stop the horses as her maid fiddled with the tassels on a silk shawl that, given the quality, was undoubtedly Muriel’s. “It is hardly your business, and I do not answer to you.”
“And here I thought we were friends,” he prompted, shifting his fistful of reins to rest on his cinnamon-colored pantaloons.
Her pressed lips softened. “We are.”
“Then, please set my mind at ease and tell me why I saw you exiting the rear of the apartments.”
“Fine. I was checking to see if a gentleman of my acquaintance truly is a gentleman.”
“I’m guessing you are speaking of Lord Traneford?” Erik frowned. “That does little to still my fears.”
“I wanted to ask the housemaid her opinion on the viscount. I came at this hour because I thought he would not be at home.”
“You thought?”
She shrugged, but from the bloom of adventure in her cheeks, Erik knew she was not as nonplussed as she was attempting to appear. “He arrived shortly after we did. We only just managed to slip away when his footman went to fetch him to force us to face the man we had been inquiring about.”
Erik ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Do you know the risk you took in calling on a gentleman’s home without your guardian?”
“I had Charlotte.” She leaned toward him, pushing the repugnant snuff-colored bonnet out of her face to stare fully at him. “But even so, you must vow never to tell a soul—especially the Ingrams. They have already approved of Lord Traneford and have arranged for me to see him at Vauxhall Gardens this very night. It will seem as if I do not trust their judgment.”
“You might have saved yourself the risk of scandal and asked me,” he replied, though he admired the fact that she wished to discern the man’s character for herself without relying on the Ingrams.
“You departed the Merrions’ party so early last night that I was unable to seek your opinion. I would think with you being a captain that you would understand the pressing need to take action.”
He stifled a chuckle and shifted in his saddle. “Fair enough. And what did you ascertain of the man’s character?”
She sighed. “The maid admitted to him being a decent sort these days. I was not wrong in my forgiving him.”
He pressed his lips together, not at all liking the idea of her traipsing down to St. James with only an abigail to accompany her to the viscount’s bachelor residence. Something could have easily befallen them both. “You should have sent someone to inquire on your behalf.”
“And risk word getting out that I was so interested in him?” She snorted. “But now, thanks to you, I’m certain someone overheard you call me by name, and now my secret trip will come to light anyway, and it will be worse than before.”
“I apologize for my lack of perspicacity, Miss Beau. I was merely shocked to see you.” His horse pranced to the side, eager to be off. “So I take it from your investigation that you decided you enjoy Lord Traneford’s company after all?”
She cleared her throat, cheeks blossoming once more. “This is hardly a topic that I should be discussing in the street with you. But, after my findings today, I cannot rightly refuse to see him when he calls, as it seems he has indeed turned over a new leaf. I have no excuse left at my disposal.”
“I see.” Not exactly a glowing response to a gentleman caller. He suppressed his smile. “I shall have to become better acquainted with him. I only knew him long ago before he departed for his fellowship in Egypt. It seems he has changed. Forgive me for interrupting your drive.” He tipped his hat and turned his mount.
“Erik, wait.” She bit her lip. “I mean, Lord Draycott. Will you be attending the gardens with us this evening? You never sent your reply to Lady Ingram.”
Erik knew he should keep himself apart from Muriel after last night, yet the idea of spending the evening with her in the glamorous gardens under the moonlight was all too tempting … a scenario a former cad like Lord Traneford might attempt to exploit. I should go if only to protect her from him … and to learn more about her stepfather’s business. “What time shall I meet you in Grosvenor Square for our trip to Vauxhall Gardens?”
She grinned and, in her glee, inadvertently flicked the ribbons, sending her horses careening down the street once more. “Arrive at seven!” she called over her shoulder, laughing.
He shook his head. He would have to take care with Muriel Beau. The once firm lines of the stars directing his life’s ship were growing blurry.