Chapter 17
Seventeen
Alix’s search for the pug was leading them farther and farther away from Rafe’s study.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she watched her sister-in-law peering under the chaise in the music room; she felt fairly certain Roland wasn’t anywhere near the salmon and gold brocade sofa.
“No sign of him here,” Alix said, straightening slowly, hand on her growing belly.
“Perhaps he’s gone upstairs.” Elizabeth had seen the pug try to climb stairs; it was a major effort for his little brown legs, and he usually settled on the fourth or fifth step, waiting to be carried the rest of the way.
She suspected her sister-in-law had been instructed to keep her away from the study—from James.
Did Rafe and Alix think she would be devastated by the sight of him?
Or did they imagine she would make a fool of herself by flinging herself into his arms?
Sweeping aside a brocade curtain as if she thought the dog might be there, she wondered, how would they react if they discovered she and James had already met?
She hadn’t been devastated and she certainly hadn’t thrown herself into his arms. Though she had to admit she’d made something of a fool of herself, plummeting to the ground like that.
She bit her lower lip, remembering how he’d smiled at her and pulled her to her feet.
All that she’d heard had set her thoughts and emotions spinning.
James Dinsmore was staying at the Hart and Hounds for the next three days, but by week’s end he’d be on his way to France.
She had less than two days to decide what she should do.
The well-fed figure of Sir Edmund Bogglesworth was spilling over the edges of her Louis XIV armchair.
From the sheen of his superfine wool jacket, Anne guessed the garment must have cost a pretty penny.
Though rumor had it, Sir Edmund, an obscure country squire only recently come to town, had plenty to spare.
She smoothed the skirt of the dress she’d reconfigured yet again, folding her hands in her lap, forcing herself to follow his conversation.
“You may not believe this to look at me,” he said, nodding his several chins, “but I was a sickly child. Yes, a sickly child. It’s a wonder I made it out of infancy.
It was the milk, you see, couldn’t bear the milk.
Must have gone through every available breast in the village near my country estate, Hamcroft.
That’s up north.” He nodded as if she should know and she nodded back in response. Thus encouraged, he continued.
She admired the stitching on his waistcoat and the fine silver buttons.
It would have looked handsome on James. Her eyes drifted to a chair by the tea table.
Her brother should have occupied it, but instead her cousin Agatha Leech sat there, her new chaperone.
Half deaf and three-quarters blind, Agatha leaned toward Sir Edmund as if he were recounting the most fascinating of adventures.
“I had faded away to nothing, no bigger than a rabbit, I’m told.
My own mother had given me up for dead when this old midwife from the village near Hamcroft says she can save me.
Fed me scotch and sugar from her little finger, drop by drop, can you imagine?
” He shook his chins at the wonder, and as if she understood, Agatha nodded her own chin, the one with the two gray hairs that Anne longed to reach over and pluck.
“More tea, Sir Edmund?” She lifted the china pot, hoping the offer of beverages would stem the tide of his talk.
Edmund waved the pot away, the massive gold rings on his plump fingers glittering with the gesture.
But Agatha held out a shaking cup. Anne filled it, praying that she wouldn’t spill the expensive oolong tea on the carpet.
The cup found its way safely to Agatha’s lips and she gave a contented slurp.
Anne shot a surreptitious glance at Sir Edmund to see if he had noticed this appalling lapse of manners, but he had resumed his story.
“Ever since that day, I have started my morning with a bit of scotch and sugar, and so you see me now, as hale and hearty as a horse, with never a day’s illness since those tremulous early years.” He sat back in his chair, folding his hands over the spread of his waistcoat.
Almost as if he were expecting applause.
If James were here, he’d have ready some subtle innuendo about horses or village breasts that Edmund wouldn’t understand.
Afterward, they’d laugh at his ignorance in the privacy of her boudoir.
But James was gone, leaving only a brief note reassuring her that he loved her.
She hadn’t the faintest idea of where he was, or how long he’d be away.
But she knew very well why he’d left. He’d been humiliated by that beast, Rafe Harcrest, marked forever by that frog-loving brother of a slut.
She smiled at Sir Edmund. “Your childhood experiences are truly harrowing, sir. How fortuitous it is that you have survived to provide us with such charming company.”
“It is you, Lady Anne, who are the charming company.”
She lowered her eyes with practiced modesty. “You flatter me, Sir Edmund.”
“I only tell the truth”—he patted his stomach for emphasis—“as you’ll realize when you come to know me better. Why, in Hamcroft, I’m known far and wide for my honesty, my fairness in dealing with my tenants.”
She’d heard his estates brought in a considerable sum a year. “Do tell us more about Hamcroft.”
“It would be my pleasure. Though it would be an even greater pleasure if I could show them to you.” He narrowed his pale-blue eyes suggestively and waggled his brows.
Agatha spied the look and misinterpreted it completely. “Oh, sir,” she cried with alarm, “you’ve caught a cinder in your eye! Let me get you a cloth with a bit of cool water.”
Sir Edmund flushed. “No, no, really, Miss Leech, it’s entirely unnecessary.”
“No, no, don’t try and be polite about it, sir. I can see you flinching. It’s this inferior wood, it is—full of sparks and cinder. And the chimneys haven’t been cleaned properly in ages.”
“My eyes are fine, Miss Leech,” Sir Edmund said in a voice that made Agatha sit back.
“Do not trouble yourself any further on my account. As for the fire on the hearth, I had not noticed it, so taken am I by the light of Lady Anne’s eyes.
” He smiled at her. “But as I look at it now, the draw seems perfectly fine.”
Anne’s eyes met his, reconsidering. Perhaps there were greater depths to the pale puddles than she’d suspected. “Hamcroft,” she prompted. “You were about to tell us about the estates and your family… How long have they occupied the land?”
His smile broadened. “My baronetcy is but a humble title in comparison with the great name of Dinsmore. But it is as old as the name of Dinsmore. Indeed, much older in its claims than many of those popinjays who strut about the ton wearing titles fresher than their linen.”
Anne’s eyes widened at his indelicate choice of words, though she agreed with him and was amused by his metaphor.
Sir Edmund waved a hand. “I am indiscreet in speaking so frankly to a lady of such gentle breeding; I apologize.”
“No apology is necessary. You have said you are an honest man. Frankness of speech is honesty’s hallmark.”
“Well said, lady.” He reached for a gooseberry tart. Between bites that left sprinkles of crust in the folds of his starched holland stock, he continued, “London is littered with upstarts. Last year’s merchant is this year’s lord.”
She nodded, offering him another tart.
“And if that were not bad enough, there are those of noble birth and breeding who welcome this lot, even stooping to join them in their sordid business affairs. I’m sure you know to whom I refer.”
Anne put down the plate of tarts and poured herself a cup of tea, having long ago learned that an air of indifference was the greatest accelerant to gossip.
“I understand he even challenged your brother to a duel.”
“Moreham?” It was with tremendous effort that she hid her excitement, affecting a tone that hinted at boredom. “That tediously self-righteous man, whatever has he done now?”
“Not now, but for the past several years, under society’s very nose.
” Sir Edmund leaned conspiratorially over his girth.
“I took a trip to France before the troubles began. Something of a grand tour, see a bit of the world…though I don’t believe the French have anything but corruption to offer English gentlefolk.
While I was there, I met a fellow who told me the most interesting tale about the Earl of Moreham and the textile trade. ”
“The earl involved in trade? Sir Edmund, surely you jest?”
He shook his head. “No, indeed, I swear, the story I shall tell you is the God’s honest truth.”
Oh, James, Anne thought with delight, if only you were here. And she offered Sir Edmund her first genuine smile of the day.
They found the pug curled under Rafe and Alix’s bed.
Roland stretched and yawned and wriggled out from under the tester, eager to play.
The two women tossed him a ball of rags, commenting on his antics and avoiding meaningful conversation.
Which was fine with Elizabeth. She doubted she could have managed to string two sentences together coherently.
She was absorbed with thoughts of James.
If only Alix hadn’t interrupted her eavesdropping in the library; if only she could have heard the rest of the conversation in Rafe’s study.
Of all the men in England James could have approached for help with his venture in France, why her brother?
Surely there were other men with networks who could be used to transfer money to France? It didn’t make sense.
Unless James had other reasons for coming to Harcrest Hall.
Over and over she considered the last words she’d overheard him say: “Redemption? For a man such as I? I merely seek…”
What did James seek?