Nigel and Giles met at White’s that night as they usually did, but they went out of their way to slip unseen into high-backed chairs at one of the farthest tables. They were so circumspect, in fact, that only one other gentleman noticed them, and he was so curious that he found his way silently to the chair nearest theirs to listen and observe.

“I understand our man saw her again today,” Giles reported, wiggling to squeeze his bulk more effectively into the armchair.

“Good thing you thought to set your footman after them,” Nigel commented. “Rather embarrassing being caught like that in the park the other day. I felt like some gossiping fishwife.”

“Well, we had to do something,” Giles protested. “We had to be sure that Kevin would succeed. We owe him that as his friends.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Nigel grumbled. “If we’d done our duty earlier, Robbie might still be alive.”

Giles paled. “Yes, well, as you say. But getting back to the matter at hand, if Kevin saw her today, that’s three days in a row. Don’t you think that’s a good sign?”

“Could be,” Nigel allowed, signaling to a passing attendant to bring them port. “Unfortunately, Whattling does not have the luxury of tarrying. I took the liberty of checking about, and I heard he hasn’t paid the rent on his flat, among a few other bills. The creditors he couldn’t pay are beginning to make noises about serving notice. If he’s determined to marry that woman, he’d better be quick about it.”

Giles shivered. “Women are so unpredictable. She could keep him dangling for months.”

“We don’t have months!” Nigel smacked his fist on the tabletop. “I tried to tell him he didn’t have time for this foolishness. I admire a man of action, but Whattling thinks entirely too much in the moment, if he thinks at all!”

Giles chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “Still, we cannot desert him. I don’t suppose we could help things along?”

“What do you mean?” Nigel demanded.

“I’m not sure,” Giles replied. “It’s just an idea, really. But don’t women generally expect little gifts and flowers? Tokens of appreciation? Kevin can scarcely provide her with that. But we could. Nothing untasteful or inappropriate, of course.”

“Of course,” Nigel nodded, looking off into the distance. “Nothing personal or expensive. A real lady wouldn’t accept them. But flowers, you said. We might be able to manage flowers.”

Giles brightened. “And candy?”

Nigel nodded again, more firmly this time. “Certainly. Capital idea, Giles. Make the arrangements in the morning and have them send the bill to my establishment. And of course you will sign Whattling’s name to everything.”

“I’m not totally lack-witted,” Giles told him with annoyance. “You can be sure that Kevin will be given all the credit.”

And well he should be, George Safton thought, rising from the chair near theirs and strolling away before they could catch sight of him. Trust Whattling to find an easy way out of this mess. A rich spinster, no less. He had thought that was Eugennia Welch driving with Whattling the other day in Hyde Park. From the sound of it, it was an all-out assault—three visits in as many days. No woman of his acquaintance could have withstood Whattling’s considerable charms. Certainly an old biddy like Eugennia Welch would be in transports. She was probably already picking fabric for the wedding gown.

But marriage was the last thing Safton wanted for Whattling. Of course, some men would have been able to put Miss Welch’s fortune to good use. And marriage was often a convenient place from which to conduct any number of lively affairs. But if Safton knew Whattling, he’d probably be true to the hag until death did them part. And he would probably stay by her side each night reading some ponderous tome designed to edify her mind and lure Whattling to sleep in minutes. That would keep him and her fortune away from the gambling tables, the boxing, and any other sport Safton might care to dream up. It was a decided nuisance.

Besides, Safton wasn’t sure he wanted to give up his favorite plaything just yet. The loss of Robert Greene was still too fresh. Nasty business that. He had been implicated, and that had put a dent in his activities. People who had cast a blind eye on his way of living in the past now asked entirely too many questions. Lord Hastings and his like were poking noses into matters best left alone. Where he was once welcomed to White’s and any other establishment he might choose to frequent, now more often he was avoided.

He had no doubt part of the problem was Whattling’s attempt to involve the magistrates in the boxing matches Safton arranged on occasion. That attempt had failed, but fewer gentlemen stood ready to participate, with their fists or with their wallets. Whattling’s continued companionship would surely help improve Safton’s standing. Without that veneer of respectability, he might not be able to gain entrance to all the places he needed to be to find appropriate people upon which to work his wiles. And Hastings approved of the fellow. With Whattling at his side, he might even fend off England’s spymaster.

No, Kevin Whattling was crucial to his plans, and George wasn’t about to let the fellow slip into peaceful matrimony so easily.

So, what to do? He strolled toward a group playing cards, and the men hurriedly finished their game and left. Taking one of the vacated chairs, he thumbed idly through the deck of abandoned cards, just as his mind thumbed through plans.

Whattling had resisted any overt effort at reconciliation, so there seemed no point trying that again. The better approach seemed to be foiling his plans with the heiress. Safton smiled, and seeing his smile, another two men hurriedly quit the room. If Miss Welch was interested in being courted, Safton had no difficulty in obliging her. He didn’t think he need go so far as to marry her, of course, but if she suddenly became damaged goods and Kevin Whattling lost interest in the woman in the process, that was all to the benefit.

He thought the remaining gentlemen in the room heaved a collective sigh of relief as he strolled out of the door for the evening, in search of bigger prey.

 

–

 

Jenny wandered along Curzon Street in her dove-colored pelisse, with Miss Tindale in black at her side and Stevens their footman behind her. Her usual constitutional wasn’t nearly as refreshing today as she had hoped. She didn’t have to analyze much to determine why. Kevin Whattling hadn’t mentioned yesterday when he intended to call again. As he had done so at every other visit, she was afraid that the omission could only mean he had lost interest in calling. She tried to tell herself it was all to the good, but she was feeling terribly dejected about the whole affair, as if she herself was somehow lacking.

He was really the most amazing man. If he did those activities he’d mentioned yesterday half as well as he implied, he was every bit as much of a scholar as she was. Still, for all the intriguing conversation, she had gleaned few additional facts about the man. In fact, he was marvelously skilled in conversing on a variety of topics while imparting little hint as to his own feelings on the matter. And she was fairly sure her own conversation was far more enlightening.

While her fortune had been enough to encourage him to call in the first place, obviously it could only have been her presence that had stopped him from calling again. She couldn’t help wondering what about her had offended him. Had she been too forward, not forward enough? Had her conversation repulsed him as too pedantic, or too frivolous? Or worse, had she been unable to arouse any return of feeling?

He’d claimed he wanted to feel some sort of affection for the woman he was being forced to marry. Mostly likely the only thing he felt for her was pity, pity for the rich spinster who didn’t know how to go about in Society. She shivered in her pelisse, pulled her silk shawl more closely about her, and increased her stride.

“Eugennia, please, slow down,” Martha moaned, obviously struggling to keep up. “Is there somewhere we must be? Are we late for some appointment?”

“No, Martha,” she said with a sigh, forcing her steps to slow. “We aren’t late for anything. We have no appointments. No one will care if we arrive anywhere, at any time.”

“What do you mean? Of course someone would care. What if we were late for Miss St. John’s discussion group?” Martha caught up to her and peered at her sideways. “Are you out of countenance again? It’s this Kevin Whattling fellow, isn’t it?”

Despite herself, Jenny felt her stride lengthening again. She tightened her gloved fingers around the strings of her reticule in determination. “I do not wish to speak about him, if you please,” she tossed back over her shoulder.

“But Eugennia!” Martha all but wailed.

Jenny ignored her. She had had enough. It was ridiculous to think she could completely change her life by meeting the right gentleman. Mr. Whattling could have been that gentleman, and all he’d done was turn her world topsy turvy. Why, he even had her doubting her own intelligence! It was not to be borne.

She put all her energy into walking, her sturdy half boots stalking along, and she was soon several lengths ahead of Martha and the footman. Belatedly, she realized she was being terribly rude. It was hardly poor Martha’s fault. She decided to go only as far as the corner of Curzon and Park Lane and wait. However, she hadn’t even reached the corner when a young boy in ragged trousers leapt out in front of her, ramming into her. She gasped, but as she tried to right herself, he snatched her reticule and tore it from her grasp.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

The boy turned a dirty face to hers, baring his teeth and growling like some kind of animal. Even as she shrunk back in horror, he reached for the ivory broach on the shoulder of her pelisse.

“Stop that!” a strong masculine voice ordered, and the boy’s eyes widened in fear. He dropped Jenny’s reticule and dashed off up the street, almost immediately hidden from view among the passersby on Park Lane. Jenny swayed, and two strong arms caught her. “Careful now. Everything will be all right.”

“Jenny!” Martha cried, hurrying up, panting, with Stevens just ahead of her. “Are you hurt? What did that awful brat do to you?”

“I’m all right, Martha,” Jenny managed, not at all sure of the truth of that statement. It had all happened so quickly that she wasn’t sure what she felt. Her rescuer set her on her feet and bent to retrieve her reticule. She turned to find herself regarding a vaguely familiar gentleman with raven hair and eyes just as dark. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as Kevin Whattling, of course, but his chin was squarer, his chest in the grey coat and white waistcoat broader, and his smile even more charming.

“Please forgive my interference,” he murmured, bowing to her and Martha in turn. “I couldn’t sit idly by and watch a lady be accosted.”

“Certainly not,” Martha said with a sniff. “We are forever in your debt, sir, er…”

“Safton.” He bowed again. “George Safton.”

“Miss Eugennia Welch,” Jenny managed, still a little shaken. “And my companion, Miss Martha Tindale.”

“Ladies, a pleasure,” he nodded, handing Jenny her reticule. “And may I say that it is a sad day for London when two such lovely young ladies cannot walk a city street unmolested.”

Martha beamed at him.

Jenny managed a smile. His attempt to charm was even more obvious than Kevin’s. In fact, Mr. Safton made it seem even easier.

“Thank you, Mr. Safton, for your assistance,” she told him. “We should not take up any more of your time. Martha?”

“Please, Miss Welch,” he swiftly countered, stepping to block her way. “I could not call myself a gentleman if I did not see you safely home. May I not walk at least a little way with you, just to make sure you’re all right?”

It seemed a bit encroaching, but Martha was preening, and, truth be told, Jenny wasn’t against having someone else in their party. She couldn’t imagine what the boy had been thinking to attack her like that, and it made her wonder what else might suddenly jump out on her way home. “Very well, then, Mr. Safton. This way.”

He offered her his arm, and they walked back down Curzon, deeper into Mayfair. The neat town houses marched along beside them, each one brick or stone, looking so respectable that she found it difficult to believe she had been attacked so close to their solid front doors.

“The weather is certainly lovely for this time of year,” Mr. Safton remarked.

“How very astute of you to notice, Mr. Safton,” Martha replied in admiration. Jenny hid a smile.

“It is difficult not to notice, dear lady, with the sunshine brightening the walk and showing us all the lovely works of nature.” He included her and Martha in the statement, just as Kevin would have done, but somehow the sentiment did not ring true. She stole a look at him out of the corners of her eyes, but he was glancing at their surroundings. She looked away, only to continue her walk with the uncanny feeling that it was she who was being watched.

“Miss Welch,” he ventured after they had walked some way, “I believe we have a mutual friend in common. Do you know a Mr. Kevin Whattling by any chance?”

Jenny tried not to bridle, but she saw a light spring up in the man’s eyes and knew she must have betrayed herself. “Yes, I do. Is he a good friend of yours, Mr. Safton?”

“A very dear friend, at least, until recently.”

She shouldn’t rise to the bait, but she couldn’t help herself. “Recently? What changed?”

A quick quirk of his mouth said he knew he had succeeded in gaining her attention. She thought he might offer some gossip, for all he claimed Kevin a good friend, but he merely affected a sad look.

“I believe he may be having some kind of financial difficulty. Nothing serious, one would hope, or I’m sure he’d have come to me for assistance. Of course, Whattling is an ingenious man, as I’m sure you know. If he can’t find one way to raise the funds, I’m sure he’ll find another.”

“Perhaps he’ll find a rich heiress to wed,” Jenny replied acidly.

Martha gasped and turned the move into a coughing fit. Stevens obligingly thumped her on the back until she waved him off.

Mr. Safton eyed her as if he suspected the truth. But he merely offered a commiserating smile. “Oh, certainly not. Kevin Whattling would never stoop so low as to marry a woman for her money. He isn’t the type to offer praise where none is warranted.”

Oh, but her cheeks felt hot. He could not know he had scored, yet he pressed his point, as if determined to drive it home.

“No. Whattling is an honest fellow, at least he has been with any woman I’ve seen him with, and I’ve seen him with quite a few. He doesn’t send flowers or candy or hang about in the lady’s pocket day after day as if he did not trust her to think without him. He’s that sort of fellow.”

“Yes,” Jenny murmured, angry at the tears that seemed to be welling behind her eyes, “I somehow thought he was.”

Mr. Safton beamed at her. “Well, then, we agree. Kevin Whattling is a jolly good fellow. Perhaps we can all go for a drive some time.”

She stopped and turned to him. “I don’t know when I’ll next be seeing Mr. Whattling. If you should encounter him before I do, Mr. Safton, will you let him know that I’m not expecting him? It’s a rather odd message, I know, but I think he’ll understand.”

Mr. Safton frowned. “Are you sure? You almost sound as if you were dismissing him.”

She managed a laugh, but it sounded brittle even to her own ears. “Oh, la, sir, one cannot dismiss what one never had.”

His frown deepened. “Miss Welch? I hope I haven’t said anything to upset you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Safton. You have eased my mind; you have no idea. We are almost home now, and I feel quite recovered. I cannot in good conscience detain you any longer.”

He bowed over her hand as if he had no concerns that she was sending him, or his friend, packing. “Of course. Your servant, madam. And yours as well, Miss Tindale.”

Martha simpered.

He started to turn away, and Jenny sucked back a sigh. She ought to have known. It had simply been too good to be true. She would return to her normal routine, continue her studies, read and discuss books with Susan and Joanna, attend the opera, the theatre. She had done all that before and enjoyed it, but somehow she thought there would be a huge hole where Mr. Kevin Whattling might have been.

 

–

 

George hid his smile as he started to turn away. Using the street urchin had been a stroke of genius, if he did say so himself. He couldn’t imagine why Whattling hadn’t already convinced the heiress to elope to Gretna Green with him; she was obviously an innocent and a gullible one at that.

And she wasn’t nearly the ape leader he had thought. The spring sunlight brought out gold highlights in the ash blond curls escaping from her straw bonnet, and, when she peered at him with those large hazel eyes of hers, he could think of a number of ways to get her to marry him in far less time than Whattling was taking. Still, it was better to stick to his plan. His goal was to retrieve the wayward Whattling, not to capture Miss Eugennia Welch.

Something had warned him not to mention Robbie. If she had known Whattling was only recently out of mourning, she would most likely have brought it up at his probing. If he were the one to break it to her, he might inadvertently put Whattling in the role of martyr. Best to slip away now, his deed accomplished.

But the sunlight glinted on unshed tears, turning her eyes to silver, and, for some reason the day didn’t seem quite so successful. What was wrong with him? Was one walk in the company of a bluestocking enough to give him a case of morals? He had better act to ensure his progress before it got any worse.

“I hope you won’t mind,” he put in as she started to pass him, “if I call tomorrow, just to see that you are indeed unharmed from today’s escapade?”

She sniffed, a far more delicate and brave sound that her companion made, as if his words were balm to her wounds. “That is very kind of you, Mr. Safton. Say three?”

“Three it is.”

Her companion gushed out their address, and he bowed once more. As he strolled back the way they had come, he felt the urge to whistle.

“Well, at least someone’s happy today,” he heard Miss Welch say before he left her to trudge home.