Chapter 6

6

M idnight, November 7, 1826

Number 5, Grosvenor Street

Gabrielle still hummed a tune the theatre orchestra had played and carried a half-empty bottle of Champagne as she carefully negotiated the icy steps up to the entry to the townhouse. She hadn’t been out to the theatre in so long, she’d missed the gaiety of the crowd, the antics of the less fortunate theatre-goers below the earl’s ostentatious box. She had to admit she’d also relished the admiring glances from the inhabitants of all the other boxes.

She knew the effect she and Margot had on wealthy, important men of the ton when they went out together. Sometimes the power they held in the demi-monde made her a bit giddy. If only Margot weren’t so serious all the time. She wished she could convince her to loosen up and enjoy what they had while they could still maintain their positions.

The Earl of Framlingwood was a handsome, virile man, and she knew he cared for Margot, but even she could feel the distance in his gaze and manners that night. His heart and soul were definitely somewhere else.

“A ruby for your musings, Miss Tamaryn.” The subject of her musings followed them into the entryway of Number Five Grosvenor Street.

“Don’t tell her that, milord. She’ll hold you to your word.” Margot frowned.

“I know he’s only teasing. No one would ever waste a ruby on me.” She bit back tears and raced back toward the servants’ quarters, nearly running over Young Rutherford in the process.

“Oy—.” Their under butler brushed the dusting of snow off his jacket and gave her a look of umbrage. “Ye nearly knocked me flat.”

Gabrielle kept running and raced down the steps to the lower level until she reached the kitchen where she discarded her warm cape and rubbed her cold feet by the fire.

No one was about at that hour except Toplofty, head butler over all of the townhouses. He’d just finished building up the fire and gave her an odd look. “A hard night at the theatre?” he asked, and roared in laughter at his own joke.

She looked up at him through her tears and complained, “No one understands me.”

“Me neither, but that ain’t stopped me yet.”

They both looked up at the loud jangle of a bell in Margot’s drawing room.

“St. Matilda’s crotch…that’s not a good sign at this hour,” he grumbled, and headed out to set up a tea service before heading toward the upper-level front rooms of her lover’s townhouse.

Margot glanced up as Toplofty scratched at the door before gliding in, balancing a tray full of a hot tea service. “Where’s Young R?”

He gave her a startled look as if he’d forgotten the name of his youngest son. “He’s, ah, a bit under the weather tonight.”

“He seemed fine earlier at the theatre,” Lord Framlingwood insisted, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“Oh, the ague came on real sudden-like just now. He’s back in his quarters, flat on his back. I’ll be taking some hot tea to him later.”

Margot gave the man a silent, but meaningful, look, letting him know with her eyes that she did not for a minute believe his Banbury tale. Young Rutherford was not only fully hale of health but he was also no doubt working some sort of event at a wealthy lord’s home, romancing jewels off the very throats and ears of the man’s even wealthier guests.

“That will be all Mr. Rutherford, Lord Framlingwood said easily. “But before you go, could you pour each of us a brandy from the tantalus?”

Margot’s eyes flew to Derek, and her blood ran cold. Was he about to give her her conge’? His tone was deadly serious, and she doubted he had any intention of joining her above stairs that night either.

As soon as Toplofty snicked the door shut and padded down the hallway back toward the steps to the kitchen, she turned toward Derek and in a stricken voice asked, “What’s wrong?”

He set down his tumbler of brandy on a side table and leaned forward on the settee where he and Margot sat. “I’ve engaged two drapers to do a complete renovation of your townhouse over the next two weeks.” He took another long sip before continuing. “Since the changes will be so extensive, they’ll be staying in the two bedchambers on the first floor.”

“Why?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice calm but firm. “I haven’t been here that long, and everything was newly done when I moved in last summer.”

“Because you deserve the best of everything.” Derek took another quick sip of the brandy, obviously trying to forestall any further questions.

“Why?” she repeated. Margot knew she should let it go, but she couldn’t. “Who are these men?”

Derek mumbled something low, and Margot leapt to her feet to begin pacing. “If you’re going to endanger our lives, the least you could do is stop lying to us.” She ceased pacing and whirled on him. “These men aren’t really drapers…they’re bodyguards. Aren’t they?” Her voice had turned shrill now, but she didn’t care. She wanted answers. If she didn’t protect herself and Gabrielle, no one else would.

He stood and joined her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t afford to let anything happen to the two of you. These men come highly recommended by Lady Camilla, the Barrister Forsythe, and Col, the Bow Street Runner who’s investigating the threats to your lives.”

“So you’re finally admitting we’re in danger.” She shouted out the last word in a high octave she never used in conversation, surprising even herself.

“Yes,” he said simply, and hung his head.

“Details,” she said. “I require details.”

“These two drapers have worked with Captain El for many years, and now they have their own thriving business in Cheapside. They apparently were so good at representing her with other drapers selling her goods that she set them up in their own business.”

“But they’re drapers, for God’s sakes. How are they going to protect us?”

“According to the captain, they’re extremely handy with knives and their fists. They apparently began their careers as riverfront gang members who, ah, assisted her in her many, um, business ventures.”

He walked closer to Margot and drew her into his arms. He put his mouth near her ear and whispered low. “You have no idea how precious you and Gabrielle are to me. If you wish, I could set the two of you up in Paris for awhile until we run this monster to ground.”

Margot pulled away and gave him a fond look. “I’m not going to abandon you, Derek, in your time of need. What kind of frivolous courtesan do you believe me to be?” She gave him her widest, bravest smile and assured him. “You do know I’m very good with knives as well? Whoever this bastard is, he doesn’t know with whom he’s dealing.”

“So you’ll welcome the drapers in for renovations?” Derek’s voice had turned a bit shaky by then.

“Of course we will. How long will whatever it is they do take to complete?”

“Let’s just worry about one thing at a time,” he said, and placed a fingertip to the end of her nose before going to the wall to ring for Toplofty. When the man appeared quickly as if he’d been leaning outside the door to the drawing room, the earl directed him to have his coach brought around.

Derek was leaving. What the hell was on his mind now?

November 8, 1826

Kenton & Bullock Drapers, Cheapside

John Kenton read through the latest letter from the former Captain Eleanor Goodrum, now the Duchess of Chelmsford. He shook his head at the thought of her most recent near impossible feat. She’d gracefully combined her high seas smuggling persona, her highly profitable club, Goodrum’s, and the role of duchess with nary a bead of sweat or misstep.

He and Will had both heard the gossip about the epic kitchen battle after which the high-in-the-instep Duke of Chelmsford had somehow convinced the indestructible and untamed queen of London vice to marry him. In fact, he and Will were the first friends she’d contacted after the nuptials…to renovate the duke’s totally destroyed kitchen.

When he and his partner had originally viewed the wreckage, they’d been tempted to simply have workmen level that part of the duke’s town mansion…after all the wicked-looking knives had been removed from the walls and furniture. However, they’d managed without a word of the conditions they’d found in the kitchen leaking to the nosy gossip sheets.

They enjoyed the patronage of the infamous duchess and they meant to keep it that way. Which was why he was reading her latest instructions on how they were to proceed with the job they’d been commissioned to complete by none other than Lady Camilla Bowles Attington Carrington Whitby. Captain El of course was pulling the strings from the background and wanted to be sure they understood the degree of danger in the situation at the Grosvenor Street dwellings of the mistresses of the Earl of Framlingwood.

He hated to fill in Will on the extent of the danger, because he knew his volatile partner would be sure to tell him he’d warned him this job was a bad idea. However, it had been years since they’d been in a shindy of a battle royal. Maybe it was time for the two of them to shake things up, get out of their plodding, mercantile existence for a night or two.

And then there was the offer she’d saved for the last paragraph of her letter. She guaranteed at least two of the earl’s ships would be at their disposal for direct trade if they could manage a good outcome protecting one mistress and her lady’s maid.

He leaned back in his desk chair and stared out the side street window, mulling over the latest twist to the affair. What in the name of Hades was so special about these women that the earl was willing to go to such lengths to see them safe?