To Catch a Coronet

Chapter Fourteen

ERIK SPREAD HIS ARMS WIDE as he stepped out of the doctor’s office on Welbeck Street, the steady rainfall making the street unusually empty. While his wrist remained wrapped to immobilize the sprain, his shoulder had healed nicely in the fortnight since his arrival in London. He rolled his shoulders gingerly, enjoying the freedom of unencumbered movement, even if the stiffness would take some time to work out. What will Muriel have to say about my arm no longer being in the sling? Seeing as he was only a half mile from Grosvenor Square, he decided to hike to Miss Beau’s home, call, and find out. He swung his arm, testing it. Now that his arm was healed, he wouldn’t have to take the coach to and from his castle. His horse could do the work in half the time.

By the time he trotted up the steps and lifted his fist, the rain had subsided to a gentle mist, but before he could knock, the door swung open. Clayton, the Ingrams’ butler, stood on the threshold, a sealed letter in hand.

“Ah, my lord. I was watching for you. Sir Alexander thought you might call and said to tell you to meet him at Montagu House by four of the clock.”

“The museum?”

“Yes, my lord.” He blinked, offering no other insights, and handed him a ticket. “Sir Alexander secured your admission.”

Erik pocketed the ticket. He suspected Sir Alexander only invited him everywhere either to display the life he could have as an earl or to keep him so busy he could not pester for another contract. Sir Alexander must have forgotten it wasn’t in Erik’s nature to withdraw from a challenge.

“He also wished for me to hand this to you personally.”

Erik accepted the sealed note, nodded his thanks, and waited for Clayton to shut the door before he tore it open, his heart pounding in anticipation of the contents. He had been waiting some days for Ingram to answer his encoded message.

Wrote to friend. Neither he nor first supplier a threat. Second supplier is a tax evader. A. I.

Tax evasion, eh?Not exactly the traitors he wished to capture, but perhaps Coates would yield some useful information one day. He grinned, tucking the missive into his waistcoat pocket. He could work with that. While Coates, the tax evader, may not respond to an honorable call to aid his country, he would likely respond to a threat. Erik lifted his hand and hailed a passing hackney coach. He had an hour before he needed to meet Sir Alexander. He would make use of it. “London Docks. Coates and Sons.”

Settling onto the worn tufted-leather seat, Erik rolled his shoulder again, pausing as he realized his first thought regarding his arm had been about Muriel and not his mission. His gut twinged in guilt. Two weeks ago, he would have danced a jig to a sea shanty. Now his first thought was of how Muriel would enjoy seeing him better … and how he wished for her to see him as powerful as he had been before the injury.

Lord, what is happening? Why am I distracted from the calling You placed on my heart?

“Coates and Sons!” The hackney driver called, thumping his fist on the roof of the coach.

He grimaced. He had passed the entirety of the journey lost in thoughts of the lovely baker. Concentrate, or you will get yourself killed. Erik patted his greatcoat to ensure the pistols in his shoulder harness were not visible. When he had removed his coat in the doctor’s office, his physician’s eye had twitched over the weapons, but he had not betrayed his shock further. With Requin’s men about the City, it would be foolish not to carry protection. He descended the coach before a shop with a wooden sign that hung lopsided from a broken chain. “Wait for me.”

He shoved open the door, the copper bell jingling overhead. He squinted in the dark room. The only window was at the front of the building, and the room was lit only by a single taper.

“Lord Draycott?” The Mr. Coates he’d met at the club rose from behind his writing desk, the crumbs from his nuncheon dusting his waistcoat. He snatched up his cutaway coat from his chair and stuffed his arms through the sleeves before patting his greased hair that was combed over the thinning patch atop his head. He greeted Erik with a handshake, the grease coating his hair now on Erik’s palm. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“I don’t have much time, so I’ll get straight to it. Since our conversation at the club, I have discovered you owe a great deal of money to the Crown.”

Coates’s smiling visage vanished. “I don’t know what you are implying. We are an honest business.”

“Until you took it over.” Erik examined the dusty shelves filled with ledgers and the massive map on the wall behind the man’s desk.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but you do not wish to get on my bad side.”

“Same.” Erik narrowed his gaze.

“If you are a lord, you are obviously well connected.” Coates crossed his arms, studying Erik. “What do you want?”

“Information. Have you ever worked for a man called Requin?”

He snorted. “I work with a lot of people.” He gestured to the wall of ledgers. “It’s a shipping company, after all.”

“Requin is … memorable.” Erik ran his finger over the ledgers, marked by year. It would take weeks to go through them all. He removed a card from his waistcoat and extended it to Coates. “If you wish for your tax evasion to remain a secret, you will ask about him and send a note to my London residence the moment you hear of anything.”

“No one comes into my family’s shop and threatens us. If you know what’s good for you, you will never come in here again.” Coates jabbed his finger in Erik’s shoulder, his eyes widening as he felt the pistol hidden beneath.

Erik ignored the throbbing in his shoulder from the man’s jabbing and tugged his greatcoat so that both pistols’ outlines were evident. “I will be expecting a note from you, or I will be reporting your theft.” Erik strode from the building and into the hackney. “Montagu House.”

After having to take an alternate route to avoid several carts that had overturned in the middle of the road, Erik was much later than he had hoped in arriving to the museum. Tossing his coin to the driver, he trotted up the steps as thunder cracked and handed his ticket to the attendant who stood just inside the front door. The man eyed Erik’s dripping coat but waved him inside.

“Lord Draycott!” Sir Alexander summoned him from across the room in Montagu House, which housed the collection of the British Museum.

Muriel twisted her hands behind her back as she stood by the side of a tall, gangly gentleman donning a blond wig, a fashion that was still popular among the elderly set. When she spotted him, her expression melted into a genuine smile. “Your arm! The doctor released you from your sling at last!”

He grinned and rotated his shoulder to demonstrate his freedom. “Nearly good as new.”

Her gaze fell on his wrist. “But your wrist is still wrapped?”

“I have nearly full range now, but my doctor is ever cautious.”

Muriel slipped her hand through Erik’s arm, guiding him away from her group and pointing to a rare coin collection as if she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. “Thank goodness you have arrived.”

“Oh?” He grinned down at her, quite getting used to the feel of her on his arm, despite his need to remind himself that friendship was all he was able to offer at this time. Though that argument had grown more and more difficult to remember. The past two weeks had been filled with invitations from the Ingrams that had brought him alongside Muriel daily, making his time in London a delight—something he never would have thought possible with attending teas, card parties, dinners, balls, operas, and the like every afternoon until he had met Muriel.

“Yes, Lady Ingram discovered my hesitancy to accept Lord Traneford, as I am sure you are aware since she has been inviting gentlemen out with us at every turn to further display Lord Traneford’s desirability.”

He chuckled. “I had suspected as much, but given your propensity to evade said gentlemen by engaging me in conversation whenever they are near, it seems Lady Ingram’s efforts have proven fruitless.”

“Unfortunately the current nobleman can’t seem to be near me without touching me.” She grunted, leaning forward to examine the chipped coins in the display case.

“He what?” he fairly growled—all thoughts of obtaining his next letter of marque vanishing.

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh! I do not think he is doing it purposefully. I believe he is rather unbalanced.”

“I’m certain that’s what he’d like you to believe,” he mumbled. “Point him out, and I’ll have a word with him that he will not soon forget.”

She giggled. “If you do not believe me, stand beside him and see for yourself.”

“I’m not going to stand close to a man I do not even know.”

“I saw the judgment in your expression. He is a nice old gentleman and shouldn’t be judged harshly simply because he is a bit unsteady on his feet.” She wove them through the crowd toward the nobleman in question—the elderly fellow sporting the blond wig.

“You cannot be serious that Lady Ingram believes him to be a suitable match?” Erik whispered through the side of his mouth.

“He is extremely kind. Now, go stand by him.” She released her hold on his arm and gave him a little nudge.

He stood beside the man, and as if drawn to Erik, the elderly fellow leaned toward him more and more closely in his commentary on the array of ancient medals before them. The man was still chattering when Erik slipped away to Muriel’s side once more. “You are indeed correct. He is unstable. Why would they think he is a suitable candidate for you? He is well over seventy.”

“Age shouldn’t be an obstacle when it comes to true love.”

He blinked. “What?”

“That’s what I thought.” She wrinkled her nose. “Lady Ingram told me that after I pointed out the gentleman in question is nearly fifty years my senior. A gentleman a decade, or even two, older than me might be an acceptable match. At his towering years, we would hardly have any time together before I was dressed in widow’s weeds.”

“With such arguments as that, I would suspect that Lady Ingram is tiring of hosting you,” he teased.

The light in her eyes dimmed. “Do you truly think so? I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, and if she is tired of my company, I need to make arrangements—”

“My apologies, it was a poor jest.”

They paused to peruse the rare manuscripts on display. “What about your prospects, Lord Draycott? Should I be baking a wedding cake for you in the near future? There is one I have been wishing to try that is four tiers high with the most elegant sugar flowers. It would take a full day to create.”

Her tone was pleasant enough, but there was a brightness missing from her voice. He tugged the front of his greatcoat. He had attempted to keep her feelings untouched. Her tone hinted at something—something his heart was beginning to echo. “I believe I am preparing myself for a life alone, so I’m afraid your new cake will have to wait until your next friend weds. Perhaps Miss Whelan?”

Muriel smiled down at a pair of children weaving through the patrons, giggling as they chased one another, oblivious to the treasures surrounding them. If he wasn’t mistaken, he spied a hint of longing in her gaze as the children disappeared into the crowd. “Don’t be silly, Erik. You are quite the catch, and as your dearest friend, I believe it is well within my rights to say such things.”

Friend. He inwardly grimaced at the word’s reappearance. “If a lady can catch me,” he teased. The last couple of weeks of chance meetings and gatherings had shown her true nature to be as he had first guessed. She was kind, generous, and deserving. If he ever were to marry, it would be to someone like her … or her. The thought shook him to his core. He had not guarded himself as well as he had hoped.

“You must be fleet of foot, or else I think you shall be presenting some young lady a token of your love by the end of the season.”

Someone bumped him from behind. He glanced over his shoulder, only seeing the milling crowd. He frowned. This was London, jostling was to be expected, especially in a crowded museum, but what was the point of written applications to acquire tickets if the museum was going to allow it to be overrun with visitors? “Are you thirsty, Miss Beau? I find myself in need of refreshment.”

At her nod, he guided them to a table set up with refreshments. He ordered two lemonades and a pair of raspberry tarts and reached into his pocket for coin, only to have his fingertips brush … parchment? His senses on alert, he paid the fellow and handed Muriel her refreshments, then discreetly slipped his palm inside his pocket to withdraw a note. He turned them toward the corner of the gallery, and, keeping Muriel distracted with talking of her latest pastry attempt, he read the note.

Release me and the sea, or I will do more than pierce your shoulder. I shall pierce your heart. Miss Beau will pay for your persistence with her life. Requin.

He crumpled the threat in his fist, whipping about to search the room for anyone watching for his reaction. It was so crowded he doubted he would find the threat. He closed his eyes, focusing his senses. He opened his eyes and slowly turned, spotting a man darting out the door. His body tensed. He should run after him, but Requin hardly ever worked alone. Erik refused to leave Muriel unguarded with such a threat in the air.

“The lemonade is delicious. And that tart! Are you going to eat yours?” Muriel leaned toward him, batting her lashes. “Or are you feeling magnanimous?”

“Does that ever work?” He laughed to disguise his racing pulse, the threat burning in his pocket as he handed her the tart.

“I suppose it does.” She unfurled her handkerchief and tucked the pastry away in her reticule, giving the bag a little shake to allow it to settle. “But, as your reward for your generosity, I shall have a dozen of these sent to your London residence.”

“We should rejoin the others before we are considered in bad form for abandoning our party.” He touched her elbow and, despite her protest, set down her half-finished glass of lemonade along with his and steered her through the crowd, careful to keep their distance from others, a difficult task given the unusually packed gallery. Every man they passed he examined, watching for Requin until they had safely reached the Ingrams’ side.

She was at once joined by her latest suitor, who directed her to the nearest collection. She cast Erik a quizzical glance, but had little choice but to engage in the elder man’s musings.

“Sir.” Erik palmed the note to Sir Alexander in a handshake.

His brows rose over the unexpected parchment, and he coughed to cover his tell as he opened the note.

“The fiend has marked our Muriel?”

The old captain turned to his wife and whispered in her ear. She paled and whispered something back. Unlike most men, Ingram did not keep his wife in the dark concerning his recent retirement from chasing down enemy smugglers and spies and the dangers associated with the job. And because she knew of Ingram’s past, she knew of Erik’s position, earning Erik her gratitude for protecting her husband.

She seized Muriel’s arm, drawing her away from the elderly suitor. “My dear, I fear I am growing faint. Will you see me home?”

Alarm flickered through Muriel’s features as she wrapped her arm about the lady. “Of course! Erik, will you summon the Ingrams’ carriage?”

He didn’t dare leave their side, not with so many unknowns. He looked to Ingram, who nodded and slipped away. This threat changed everything. His gut wrenched. He would not take to the seas until he was certain Muriel was safe, and she wouldn’t be safe until he caught the man who had evaded him these many years. The question was, how was he to protect her in the courts of London, where anyone could be a villain in disguise?

“We are going to stay at Lord Draycott’s castle for a house party.”

Lady Ingram seemed remarkably recovered after taking a few hours of rest. Now she blazed about Muriel’s room, commanding Muriel’s poor maid every which way, tossing Muriel’s things in trunks as Charlotte trailed her, righting each item.

Muriel intervened as Lady Ingram was about to toss a porcelain figurine of a maiden and her beau that Muriel had just purchased into the trunk, and instead wrapped it delicately in a chemise before setting it among soft shawls and underthings. “This doesn’t make any sense, Lady Ingram. I spoke with him at length at Montagu House, and he did not mention a word about hosting a house party in the country. The very action is not in season as Parliament won’t be out until June. When could you have possibly spoken with him about a house party?”

“So many protests!” Lady Ingram scowled, rummaging through Muriel’s top armoire drawer and lifting out the matching silk stocking to the one she held. “When you came upstairs to nap before tonight’s ball, he followed us home and we arranged it all then. I know it is irregular, but weren’t you telling me that you longed for him to host a house party, what with his beautiful castle and ancient abbey to explore?”

“Indeed, I would dearly love to go. What I want to know is, Why is there such an urgency to flee London? Why, we have a ball to attend at the Lucases’ in an hour. It would be exceedingly rude of us not to—”

“It isn’t important at the moment.” She pinched the snuff-colored bonnet Muriel had found on sale and shivered, setting it back in the armoire on the top shelf far from view. “Why ever would you purchase such a piece?”

“I know it is hideous, but it was nearly free, and I remade it with Elena.”

“And that was the result of your remaking it? The only way to save that bonnet is to burn it, my dear.” She dusted off her hands and folded them before her skirts. “What is important is that you honor the earl’s wish. Sir Alexander and I were discussing it and have decided that while Lord Draycott has yet to show you any interest beyond friendship, he is still quite eligible, and if he doesn’t pursue you, Sir Alexander has secured invitations for the rest of our merry party, including Lord Traneford, Lord Sullivan, Miss Whelan, and the Widow Whelan.”

Erik is more than eligible. But I will not make the same mistake twice in imagining a gentleman has romantic inclinations toward me and take myself to the brink of a proposal when he has none. No. If Lord Draycott wishes to be with me, he knows where to find me.She crossed her arms. “I do not wish to insult the Lucas family.”

“Which is why I am attending the party and will make your excuses.” Lady Ingram seized Muriel by the shoulders. “It will be quite the arduous night for Sir Alexander and me, as we will follow you to the castle three hours behind your coach. So, please, cease arguing and pack. You are in danger.”

Muriel blinked. “Whatever do you mean? I’m a country baker. Why would I ever be in danger?”

“You are a baker turned heiress, which has placed you in the public eye, especially after your success here.” She shook her head as Charlotte packed a turban, motioning her to pack it in another trunk. “I cannot say more.”

“So it’s a fortune hunter who is after me?” Muriel sank atop the bed, meeting Charlotte’s wide eyes. She had heard of men capturing young heiresses and forcing them into a marriage in Gretna Green, as well as read about them in Vivienne’s novels. Never once had she ever considered such a fate to be thrown in her path. The taint from her beginnings in society’s eyes was usually protection enough.

“A fortune hunter?” Lady Ingram pressed her lips into a firm line. “Yes, you might say he is one of the greatest fortune hunters of our time. And therefore, Lord Draycott has sworn to protect you.”

“Why would Eri—Lord Draycott—do that when I can simply return home to my stepfather’s protection?”

“My dear, Lord Draycott owns a castle that was built to withstand assaults. A fortune hunter will not be able to easily abscond with you against such defenses and a moat, especially with a man straight from battle, such as Lord Draycott, manning her. You will be well protected.”

“But surely you can see that I cannot go alone with him tonight, even with you following so closely behind. It will take the other guests time to arrive. I doubt society will approve of only our being there when we are calling it a house party.”

Lady Ingram pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. “Which is why I have sent for your friends in Chilham to meet you there.”

“You sent for Vivienne and Tess?”

“Of course. The missive should arrive tonight, and based on your testimony of their friendship, I fully expect them to be there by morning, before the others, and therefore able to assuage any gossip.”

Muriel set out her favored traveling shoes and spread her ivory pelisse on the bed. “But that would still leave us unchaperoned for the trip there.”

“Your maid will have to do.” Lady Ingram snapped a gown and rolled it in her hands to prepare it for packing. “Please, set aside your fears and trust me. When a lady’s very life is in danger, allowances must be made.” She pursed her lips and gave a shake of her head as she handed the bundle to Charlotte. “Besides, you hardly arrived in London with a glowing reputation in the first place. I cannot be expected to work miracles.” She clapped her hands. “Finish dressing in your burgundy pelisse, my dear, not the ivory. Jewel tones do marvels for your complexion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to my own packing.”

Charlotte lifted Muriel’s emerald beaded reticule. “Do you wish for me to change this for your traveling reticule, Miss Beau?” At her nod, Charlotte dumped the contents onto the bed, the letter from the vicar fluttering atop the heap—still sealed. “Are you going to open this, miss, or shall I throw it out? I’ve packed it and unpacked it from your reticule every day since we arrived, and I daresay it will not last much longer with all the stains from pastries hidden in your bag, tears from being pushed about as you searched for coins, and—”

Muriel’s gut twinged. “Pack it again, please.”

Charlotte frowned. “Very well. Pardon me for saying this, but you shouldn’t ignore the vicar’s words to you much longer, miss.”

“I’m not ready to hear them. I cannot bear to read of his disappointment in me.”

Within an impossibly short amount of time, Muriel descended the staircase, clasping the handle of the satchel that held her recipes from her time in London. She was not going to risk having the bag tumble off the back of the carriage.

Erik stood at the threshold. The moonlight streaming through the sidelights into the foyer illuminated his broad form and chiseled features, as well as a pair of pistols tucked neatly on either side in his shoulder harness and a rapier sheathed at his waist. His wrist was free of any bandages. “Do you have everything you need for the journey, Miss Beau?”

“I do.” Her gaze rested on his weapons, and even though she was hardly afraid, the presence of weapons on an honorable man who knew how to wield them was strangely comforting. “But where is your wrist wrap? Won’t the doctor be angry with you?”

“I need to be able to use my weapons without it stifling my movement. I’m certain the doctor would understand if I had to choose between reinjuring my wrist or saving our lives.” He winked, softening the gravity of his words.

“I appreciate your service in keeping me safe from the fortune hunter.” She released a short laugh that sounded nervous to her ears. “I never thought what husband hunting might feel like on the other end, but surely this is rather more frightening. I could not rightly sweep a gentleman over my shoulder and abscond with him into the night.”

Without seeming to hear her jest, he gestured toward the door. “I’m afraid we must be on our way.”

Charlotte removed the satchel from Muriel’s hands, silently squeezing her arm in assurance that she would see to it for the journey to the castle, and darted outside and into the awaiting carriage.

Bidding the Ingrams a swift farewell, Muriel allowed Erik to take her hand and lead her into the night. Waves of mist coated her pelisse as he held the door for her, ushering her inside, and she could almost imagine she was in one of Vivienne’s novels, where the hero and heroine were whisking away into the night for Gretna Green. The illusion would be easy to believe if Erik would give her an adoring smile. However, the handsome fellow she had come to call friend offered her no reassuring smile. He assumed the seat across from her and Charlotte, who sat stiffly with the satchel on her lap. In a novel, he would have taken the seat beside Muriel. She sighed. Her imagination would not be allowed to take over.

The coach lurched over the cobblestones, and Muriel peeked through the tiniest crack in the drawn curtain to see London at night. As she expected, many of the grand houses shone from the merrymaking within, and the road teemed with awaiting coaches. Erik leaned forward and gently took her hand in one of his, shaking his head in admonishment and drawing the curtain completely closed. The rattle of the wheels on the cobblestones left precious little capacity for conversing without shouting. At last, the coach picked up speed as they left behind the City, the clattering dimming to a rumble as they traveled over the muddied earth.

“Is it safe to travel at night in the country? I’ve read many stories in the papers about highwaymen. There are accounts of one who dresses all in black, with hair as golden as the sun, who can leap from his horse to a carriage in a single bound, robbing all within,” Charlotte whispered to her. For the first time, Muriel considered how frightening this was for her maid. Her stomach twisted in guilt.

“I have armed riders before and behind with torches, guiding and protecting us, Miss Charlotte. We are quite safe, I assure you,” Erik interjected.

Muriel squeezed her friend’s hand, turning her attention to Erik. “May I ask you something?”

“Have you ever allowed a negative response to that question to prevent you from querying?”

“Why did you offer to keep me safe?” She fiddled with her necklace. “I know you have business in London. Won’t your being tucked away in your castle prevent you from accomplishing what you need to?”

He reached across the carriage and grasped her hand once more. “Muriel. Do you really imagine that I would place business over the safety of a dear friend?”

“I know you consider me your friend.” Her ridiculous heart hammered so hard she feared he would hear it. She forced herself to add, “As I see you. A very good friend … who is sacrificing a great deal to come to my aid.”

He pressed his lips into a firm line. “Indeed. But, you see, I do not like it when my friends are threatened. I take it quite personally.”

“About that threat. Surely there is something else we can do to protect me from a fortune hunter than whisk me away to your castle in the country.” It seemed such an action was highly improper. But if her guardians approved it, who was she to question the way of polite society?

His brows rose at that. “Do you not wish to return to the castle and explore it for yourself?”

“Of course, I do. You know I’ve been eager to ever since your garden party. But I do not wish to put you out in having you host me and my friends on such short notice simply to protect me from another.”

“You could never put me out.”

She cleared her throat. “Not even when my two dearest friends are about to descend upon your castle? Along with six others from London to make up the house party? What about your desire for solitude?”

“If it keeps you safe, not even then, my dear friend.”

Friend. Well, I suppose that is better than him not thinking of me at all.The coach lurched, sending her tumbling forward from her seat. Erik grasped her by the waist as she fell atop him while Charlotte kept her seat by gripping the leather strap that Muriel had foolishly released in her worry over disrupting Erik’s routine. Lord, help me if his arms do not feel divine.

“Are you hurt?” he mumbled against her hair. “Why aren’t you moving?”

She shoved herself back. “My apologies. Exhaustion.”

His lips quirked as she righted herself and gripped the leather strap with both hands. How was she not going to utterly fall in love with this man? She closed her eyes against the sight of his handsomeness. If he wishes for friendship, I will be the best friend I can be, even if I never do get to love him in the way I desire.