The Fashionable Spy (10 page)

When she put down the piece of fabric she had shown to Mr. Tilbury, following confirmation that it was suitable, Edward urged Victoria to the door and waiting carriage. “Why not take a short drive through the park? It is a fine day and you said you had left your head at the foundry.”

“There are a good many days when I feel as though I have left my head elsewhere, sir. I vow a drive sounds lovely, to inhale the scents of spring while slowly pacing our way through the throng of carriages and horseflesh.”

“I suspect there is a hidden reproof in that remark. Do you not admire London in the spring. Miss Dancy?”

“I appreciate the smell of clean fresh country air a bit more, sir. Even the most devoted Town-lover would have to admit that London has unpleasant odors, once out of your door. Do not say that you find Kent unappealing.”

“Kent? Oh, yes, well, I do enjoy ruralizing from time to time.” He coughed into a hand. “A man’s estate cannot be neglected or it will cease to provide a decent income in no time.” He glanced at her face, admirably revealed for his inspection by that pretty hat she wore. “You frown, dear lady. What can be amiss in that remark? You do not approve of a man working from time to time?”

“It is what you said about a man’s estate. We try, we really do, but I fear that dear Geoffrey’s estate has had little personal supervision, other than for his bailiff. I shall be vastly relieved when my brother is able to come home and tend to things on his own behalf.”

“What will you do if he marries? He probably will, sooner or later. Miss Elizabeth is quite young and most likely will be snapped up one of these days. You appear to shun matrimony. If I may have a turn at a personal question, why?” It was only fair he ask so pointed a query; hadn’t she inquired about his wounded leg earlier? She stared straight ahead as they neared Hyde Park, her mouth firm, hands clasped in her lap.

“I shan’t tell you that no one has asked, for that would be a lie. Let us say that none has suited me to date. No doubt I shall end up on the shelf, living with dear Julia and the twins in a little cottage near my family home. We shouldn’t wish to share the house with my brother and a bride, for I firmly believe that most relatives are troublemakers at best, even though they may mean well.’’

“Indeed,” Edward murmured. “You almost sound the romantic, expecting a husband and wife to live in each other’s pockets.”

“I know it is not fashionable, but frankly, I think it sounds delightful.” Then she clamped her mouth shut again and turned her head as though to admire the approaching carriage and the couple who drove in it.

“Hm,” Edward replied to this bit of revealing news. In that beautifully rounded bosom Miss Dancy possessed a tender regard for the more personal side of marriage. He couldn’t figure out where that view fitted in with the iris locket, however. They would seem at distinct odds. Most curious.

At a gasp from Victoria, he focused his attention on the approaching carriage. A casual friend, Lord Leigh-ton, handled the ribbons, with Miss Elizabeth at his side.

“That little minx. I thought she intended not to favor him with her company. She knows that she ought to discuss such things with us before taking off,” Victoria said in an undertone.

“Leighton is a fine chap. You need have no worry on his score.” That was more than he could say for the Dancys. It seemed increasingly evident to him that they were not what they pretended to be.

The carriages drew to a halt, Elizabeth giving Victoria an uncomfortable look before dropping her gaze to her lap. Greetings were exchanged. Leighton said all that was admirable and Elizabeth remained oddly silent.

“We must be going,” Victoria prompted. “I shall see you later, Elizabeth.” The words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

“Don’t be too hard on the girl. I’m told Leighton is sufficient to turn any number of heads, being highly eligible.”

Victoria thought she detected a grim note in his voice and wondered if he felt that his limp would deter any woman from forming an attachment with him. “I should think that you are equally eligible, Sir Edward. I have yet to hear anything to your detriment.” Although she certainly had kept her ears open wherever she went. Tidbits about mysterious trips—at least no one seemed to know precisely where he went—had reached her ears. And she had heard one rumor about his frequenting a gaming house that she intended to investigate further.

“I always wondered what damning with faint praise would be like, and now I believe I know. At least you do not have a disgust of me ... I think?” His smile was wry, lopsided, and infinitely charming.

“I should.” She inspected the stitching on her gloves; then said. “I dared not reveal all that occurred while in the windmill, lest my sisters make demands of you. Yet I would not have you believe that a woman might find anything objectionable about you.” She gave him an earnest look. “I am certain that somewhere there is a fine woman who would be honored to be your wife, if you choose to ask her.’’

“I am delighted, indeed, at your encomium. Miss Dancy. Perhaps one of these days I shall consider the matter at length.” His eyes looked amused, and held her captive for a moment.

When they stopped before the Dancy residence, Higgens handed her down with polite care, and she paused, turning to give Sir Edward one of the Dancy smiles. “I thank you in advance for the carriage, Sir Edward. It is a most noble thing for you to do. I trust you will drive in it with me sometime?”

“Indeed,” he replied.

Victoria entered the house, her mind in a whirl. More than ever she had great curiosity about Sir Edward. He had traveled to Dover, only to be thwarted by their crash. Then he had declared he no longer needed to go there. Curious. Odd behavior, unless . . . Somehow she had to get into his house. But how?

Chapter 6

“Elizabeth, why did you tell me that you wished never to see the man again, then go driving with him in the park?” Victoria said, trying not to sound like a scold. “Can you truly have no notion of the sort of talk that brings? Driving out with Lord Leighton is perhaps acceptable, but not if you are intent upon depressing his interest. Please explain, for I fail to understand your reasoning.” Victoria had run her sister to ground in the breakfast room long after she had broken her own fast. Standing by the window that overlooked the street, she kept her own face in the shadows, while her sister bore the full brunt of the daylight through the blinds.

Seeing there was no escape, Elizabeth gave a dramatic sigh, then nodded. “I suppose I do seem a mite contradictory at that. Truly, I intended and still intend to avoid that man. He likes to tease me, and I find that so vexing. The note he sent requesting I drive with him in the park was couched in such a way that I felt it quite necessary, you see.”

Elizabeth gave another sigh, then confessed in a rush, “I’d the notion he suspected the sort of work we do by what he wrote in that note. Vicky, I had to go with him, if nothing more than to find out how much he knew, or guessed. I daresay it is the first time in that buckish life of his that he has had to use guile to persuade a woman to drive out with him.”

Victoria repressed the smile that longed to break forth. “I had not considered Lord Leighton a buck. He is certainly a dashing fellow, and a bit of a dandy in his dress, but I truly could not say he is a fop or a
fast
man. I sense there is more to all this than you have told me, but, dearest, I would never pressure you to reveal something you wished to keep to yourself.” Pausing a moment, Victoria added, “Unless it might be something that is compromising.” She recalled her own dark secret and fixed Elizabeth with a minatory eye.

Evading her sister’s accusing gaze by means of buttering a slice of toast, Elizabeth shrugged her pretty shoulders and shook her head. “Please do not worry about me. I shall come about eventually, once I can decide the best course to take.” The small crease on her forehead indicated that she had a way to go before she reached a decision, whatever it might be.

Not understanding the matter in the least, Victoria gave up the cause, fleeing the breakfast room to the haven of her workroom. Here she found Mr. Padbury sitting quietly while Julia transferred her sketch of Viscount Temple’s eye to the piece of ivory before her.

In Mr. Padbury’s lap reposed a tortoiseshell box. He was slowly ripping the gold thread from a sword knot, then pausing from time to time to wind it up on a spool that sat stuffed inside the box. Whenever he visited, which was often, he sat with his pastime.

“Drizzling again, Mr. Padbury?” Drizzling was all the rage among the
ton.
It was a simple task, to unravel gold or silver thread from old brocades, the fancy epaulets no longer needed by ex-military gentlemen, and other passé adornments.

“ ‘Tis a soothing occupation for the hands.” Mr. Padbury beamed a genial smile at her before returning to his task.

Victoria also knew that a great many women used the diversion as a means of making a tidy sum of pin money. All the gold and silver lace and the brocade gowns to be found in the various attics and stored in old trunks in lumber rooms were mines for the drizzler. And it seemed that everyone was doing it, even the Princess Charlotte. When the stylish Mr. Padbury succumbed to the craze, it was indeed the
thing.

Pausing by her sister’s table, Victoria silently watched for a moment, then continued on to her own work area. Drat the others. Not that she didn’t love Julia, and Mr. Padbury was as harmless as a gnat, but she had hoped to be alone. Today she fully intended to begin work on the bust of Sir Edward, challenging her memory to a test such as it had never known before.

The wax beneath her hands rapidly warmed to a pliable state, and she began building up the basic form, figuring that neither of the others would be in the least interested in what she did at this point.

“Working at home, Victoria?” Julia inquired in an absent voice while intent upon her sketching.

“Umm,” murmured Victoria, hoping to discourage conversation.

The door opened and Elizabeth bounced into the room. “Good morning, all. Lovely day, is it not?” She hummed a little tune, then stopped as she undoubtedly recalled there were those present who most definitely took a dim view of her lack of musical aptitude. “I wish you to know that I have been commissioned to do a series of engravings for Mr. Ackermann.” She darted a knowing look at Victoria, while waving a letter in her hand. “A series of London scenes.”

“Excellent.” Any commission any one of them could manage in the “regular” world was all to the good, for it served to cover up their more clandestine activities.

“I am so pleased, dear,” murmured Julia, still intent upon her sketch. She wore a frustrated look, causing Victoria to wonder if painting an eye was quite as simple a task as it sounded.

Since Elizabeth had not closed the door, Victoria was unaware that another had entered the room. With Mr. Padbury present it was unlikely that anything out of line might be said; nevertheless, she was shaken to hear the voice of the very man she planned to execute in wax come from behind her shoulder. It was as though she had, by concentration, conjured him into the room.

“Good morning. Miss Dancy. Do you never take a rest? Your head went to the foundry yesterday, and already you begin another work. Who is it to be this time?”

Victoria hoped her start did not reveal how he disconcerted her.

“Ah, well, you see ... that is, I haven’t made up my mind. It is to be a surprise,” she concluded with what she just knew was a horrendous blush, not to mention blunder. One did not commence a project without anticipating the outcome. At least no artist she knew did such a thing.

Sir Edward smiled, patently amused at her flustered condition. “Pity, that. I had hoped to entice you to do a bust of me. Vain creature that I am, I thought it might look well in my library, and be something to hand on to my children.”

“You are planning to be wed, Sir Edward?” Mr. Pad-bury queried, wrapping another length of gold thread around his spool, then stuffing it back into his pretty box.

“Eventually,” Sir Edward replied in a drawl, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I expect to do my family duty, as all the other Hawkswood males have in the past. Cannot have the line die out.’’ He slid his gaze over to where a fascinated Victoria studied him.

“You wish me to do your head, sir?” She darted a glance to Julia and Elizabeth and caught their subtle nods. “I should be most pleased to oblige you. As it happens, I am between commissions and can take you now, if that pleases.”

“Oh, that pleases very much,” he replied from her side, tilting his head at an angle to peruse the lump of wax on her stand. “What about your surprise? I should hate to disappoint someone.”

Victoria whirled about to draw him away from what she had begun to work on. “ ‘Tis of no import and can wait.” She guided him a few steps toward the doorway. “I should prefer to work at your home. I realize this is unorthodox for a young woman, but nobody seems to think it objectionable, for I always take Sable with me.” It was remarkable how Victoria had managed to scrape by with her daring behavior, but she was too grateful to question it. “Sable usually depresses any tendency to familiarity,” she added for the benefit of Mr. Padbury. As well as he knew them, she felt it wise to remind the gentleman of her desire for propriety.

She exchanged a look with Sir Edward, silently acknowledging between the two of them that her pet was an idiot when it came to this particular gentleman, and that Victoria would have to trust him to mind his manners. Besides, after all that had passed between them, she doubted Sir Edward was in the least interested in her anyway. He seemed to have had little difficulty in keeping his distance, something unheard-of in the Minerva novels.

“Fine, fine,” he murmured, evidently wishing to seem all that was proper to the others, even Mr. Padbury.

Only Victoria caught that devilish gleam in his eyes as he turned to face her once again. She fought the trembling that threatened to overcome her. Why now? She had gone to Admiral Chatham’s house with not a quiver, although she knew he fancied himself a ladies’ man. And a good many others had indicated they would be only too pleased to oblige her should she wish, which she never did, naturally. Sable had been her guardian. But now?