Chapter Seventeen
“Another early visit, Langford. At least you waited until eleven this time.”
Gabriel found Brentworth in his study, pen in hand. The papers arrayed on the desk looked important and official. Since Brentworth held no title in the government, Gabriel wondered what those papers contained.
With a practiced move, Brentworth gathered them with one hand into an impenetrable stack.
Gabriel sat in a chair to one side of the chamber. He’d be damned if he sat across that desk like an employee or supplicant, although he was something of the latter today.
“I have come to ask a favor,” he began.
“You have only to name it.” Brentworth set his pen in its holder. “I expect you want to borrow the dagger.”
His guessing that was hellishly annoying. And a bit worrying. “Yes.”
“I will not ask why. I am sure you have a good reason.” He stood and aimed for the door. Gabriel followed.
In the gallery, Brentworth opened the case and drawer and lifted out the dagger. “We will find a box for it. You cannot ride through town with that in your coat. It will tear the lining.”
“I expect so.”
Brentworth called for a footman and described the box he needed. They went to the library to wait. “I heard Brougham speaking favorably about that bill. The revision of the criminal code regarding capital crimes. He has never cared for all these death penalties that, due to good conscience, are never carried out. It creates unfairness in an area where the government should be very fair.”
“And the penal reform.”
“It is difficult to make people care whether criminals are well cared for.”
“The two bills go hand in hand. If the prisons remain as they are, avoiding hanging will only delay death a short while for many of these people.”
“Perhaps, but I doubt you will get both bills passed.”
Probably not, since his own attempts at persuasion promised to be curtailed for the foreseeable future. Potentially forever.
Considering what he planned to do for Amanda, it would be better for his name to be removed from those bills. If he were found out, it would look like he only supported them to protect a certain woman in the event she was caught at her crimes.
The footman brought in a shallow wooden box with a simple clasp closure. Brentworth wrapped the dagger in his handkerchief and placed it inside. “If you should think of any more details about that auction, such as who else attended, please let me know,” Gabriel said.
Brentworth snapped the box cover shut and handed it over.
Gabriel took it. “No questions?”
Brentworth shook his head. “A reminder, however. You have friends if you need them. Do not forget that.”
* * *
When Gabriel returned to his house, he found Stratton handing his own horse to a groom. “It is good I came no earlier, Langford. I would have been told you were not at home and assumed you cut me.”
“I have been rising earlier than normal these days.” Since there was no way to keep Stratton out without in fact insulting him, he accepted his friend’s company as he entered the house.
Stratton, through habit, aimed for the library. Falling back a step, Gabriel made frantic gestures to the butler from behind Stratton’s back. The man understood, and hurried ahead of them both.
As they entered, Gabriel heard the sound of the French doors closing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amanda slipping into the garden.
So did Stratton, who eyed the doors while a small frown formed.
Stratton’s frown cleared suddenly. “That was the woman in Lady Farnsworth’s box at the theater. Miss Waverly.”
“She called.”
“Yet you left her while you rode about town. I think she did not call today, but woke here this morning.”
“So much for my campaign to learn discretion.”
Stratton looked at the doors again. “Why did you not just use that house you let? Discretion was the whole reason for doing so.”
Because there would not be enough servants to watch her. Because it was not clear she would agree to the real reason it was let. Because living there would be inconvenient. “Yes, well, one thing led to another.” He shrugged.
“I will take my leave so it can lead to another thing once more, now that you have returned.” Instead of actually leaving, however, Stratton gave the French door another long look.
“Clara mentioned Miss Waverly left her situation,” he said. “Is that true? I suppose if she is here today and not with Lady Farnsworth it must be. So you not only seduced her, you lured her away from her situation so she could cavort with you. Are you mad?”
“In a manner of speaking, are we not all mad when we pursue women?”
“How philosophical.”
“Nor did I lure her away. That had nothing to do with me.”
“Convince Lady Farnsworth of that. She will gut you with her pen if she learns of this.”
“Which she will not unless you confide in your wife, in which case I will gut you.”
Stratton was too busy thinking to even hear the threat. “Is she living here? If you left this morning, I think so. I can’t see her waking alone in this house unless she is a houseguest.” He gave Gabriel a severe frown. “Badly done, Langford.”
Gabriel aimed for the decanters. He poured himself a brandy. “I should have barred the door to you when I saw you outside. Why the hell are you not at home, admiring your son?”
“I was sent on a mission by Clara.”
“To me? Whatever for?”
“She would like to speak with you. She thinks you do not care for her and would decline if she wrote and requested you call on her, so she sent me to persuade you.”
“I do not know why she thinks I do not care for her. She does not approve of me, but I am accustomed to that and do not hold it against people.”
“So you will call on her.”
“I suppose so, when I can. What does she want to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You tell her everything that enters your mind, but she keeps secrets?”
“I do not tell her every—say, do you think she knows about your houseguest?”
It was a notion Gabriel could do without Stratton putting in his head. “I can’t imagine how she would know.” Someone might have seen Amanda in one of his carriages in the morning, visiting that mail drop. Other than that, there should be no clue.
Stratton crossed his arms and pondered the matter. “Why not tell her? Bring Miss Waverly when you call. Clara is liberal minded in the extreme on the question of single women having lovers, so she will not disapprove on principle at least.”
“Meaning she will object only to the particulars, such as the lover being me.”
“Possibly.”
“Certainly.”
“It will not matter. Miss Waverly must be bored, imprisoned here. She will be glad to go and be reassured that if the affair is discovered all of society will not scorn her.”
“She is not a prisoner.”
“I refer to her isolation in this house for the sake of discretion. I will leave you so you can entertain your guest. I will tell Clara that you will call tomorrow.”
“I did not say I would call tomorrow. I said I would try to do it sometime. I am a busy man, Stratton. Duties abound.”
Stratton grinned. “She will expect you tomorrow.”
“She will be disappointed.” He did not answer summons from anyone except the king. He would do nothing to encourage the duchess to think she could demand his attendance.
“As you wish. You were warned,” Stratton said.
Warned, hell. He sat at a writing table after Stratton left. He began a letter to Thomas Stillwell, the worried curator at the British Museum.
* * *
Amanda held the dagger while she examined it. She sat on a divan with Langford. He had handed her a box as soon as she returned to the library. Inside lay this rarity, wrapped in a fine handkerchief. “Brentworth gave this to you?”
“He loaned it as a favor.”
“He must have asked why you wanted it.”
“Men who are friends do not demand explanations of each other about favors.”
“Women do. We always want the particulars.”
“That is why you are such fine gossips.”
“Men gossip too.”
“True, but we do not ferret out the details. We rely on women to do that for us.”
She rubbed her finger over the engraved lines. “I worried I would have to teach you how to purloin this. I did not have faith you would be a good student.”
“I expect I could steal as well as anyone.”
“You would make the worst thief. You are too notable. Even in rags, you would stand out. Thieves must appear so ordinary you do not even see them.” She stood and went to the writing table. “I should pen the note.”
He joined her there and hovered while she set out a sheet of paper. “How long will it take to receive directions?”
“Last time it took a week. Then he demanded a delay before I handed over the buckle. I do not know why. It was faster the first time, with the museum’s brooch.”
“Perhaps he needed to arrange the receipt of it. It could happen faster this time.”
She was not sure whether to pray it did, or hope it did not. She wanted this over, of course. She wanted to know her mother was safe. When this sad story completed its final chapter, however, she and Langford would part forever.
They did not speak of that, but it affected this time together. Last night, while she lay on him, feeling his essence around and in her, she had calmly, even lazily acknowledged that fate had been kind in a way, because she had this time to love him.
The word had just emerged in her thoughts, accurate and true. It had been in her heart for a long while.
Pen poised, she looked up at him and allowed herself a moment to embrace that love. He noticed her hesitation. “Do you not know what to write?”
She forced her attention to the task at hand. “I was wondering if I should make it clear that there would be no more deliveries after this. I do not want him thinking he can go on and on. I would not mind taking the upper hand in some way.”
“Restrain yourself for now. We do not want him getting suspicious. He may then do something that will complicate matters further.”
She gave up the scold she had formed in her head. It had been too furious and colorful anyway. She merely wrote what she had written the last time. I have it. She folded the sheet and penned Mr. Pettibone on the outside.
Langford took it from her and set it on the table. He then took her hand and led her out to the terrace. A table had been set there with cloths and silver. Tea was served.
She sipped hers. He smiled.
“What amuses you?” she asked.
“You take such pleasure in the taste of tea. Your expression, your sigh, the way you savor it and close your eyes—it is not unlike how you look when enjoying other pleasures.”
She felt her face grow hot. “Surely not.”
“Damned close.”
“How embarrassing.”
“No one else but I pays attention. No one else knows how you look when other senses are delighted.”
She set down her cup. “Is that why you keep pressing tea on me? So you can see me delighted? Are you in turn delighted just in seeing me delighted?”
He laughed. “Sometimes. However, I have tea served because you so clearly relish it.”
“We never had tea at school. I have not been able to afford any worth drinking since.” She raised her cup and hid behind it while she drank deeply.
He sat back comfortably and regarded her. “You said something in the library that surprised me. About how thieves must not be notable. Perhaps that was why your mother put you in that school. Maybe as you got older, you grew less ordinary. Too notable.”
“What an astonishing notion. It is sweet of you to suggest that.”
“You think I am wrong. That I merely flatter you.”
“If you see me as somehow notable, I am not going to discourage that view. However . . .”
“Women always know the truth. That is what you told me.” He leaned forward and took her hand. “Let me tell you how notable you are. The second time I saw you, a mask covered most of your face, but I noticed you straight away.”
“Because my costume was so ugly.”
“Because there was something to your presence.”
He only flattered her. She knew that. Happy flutters bounced inside her anyway. “What do you mean, the second time? That was the first.”
He shook his head. “I did not realize it until the mystery truly unfolded, but I saw you first outside Harry’s house, examining Sir Malcolm’s home. You wore a simple green dress and a simpler deep-brimmed bonnet and carried a basket. You intended to be so ordinary as to be invisible, but I noticed you.”
“And I you.” It amazed her that he’d noticed and more so that he’d remembered.
“That quality would be inconvenient for your mother. She might be able to disappear, but her daughter showed signs of never achieving that.” He squeezed her hand. “That first time I saw you was the day you decided you could only get in Sir Malcolm’s house if you used Harry’s, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “Perhaps my intense thought on the matter is what made me notable.” She laughed. “You are too perceptive. I have no mysteries left, I think.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “I think there will always be mysteries left with you, Amanda.” He stood and raised her up. “Let us go above so I can explore them.”