His Dark Enchantress (Books We Love Regency Romance) (11 page)

Rosemary continued to glare at him, her mouth set in a thin, disapproving line.
She turned to her escritoire and wrote a brief note which she folded, sealed and handed to him.

“Give that to Mr. Stepper,” she snapped, “and I do not want to see you again today.”

Peregrine wafted the note under her nose.

“Fear not, Aunt,” he assured her. “Until tomorrow.”

He waved her a sketchy farewell and made his way to The Bunch of Grapes. The tavern was full and he elbowed his way past the bar, awash with slops of stale beer, to a corner seat where
he ordered his pie and ale.

The ceiling beams in the tap room were low and close together, and held the murmur of conversation and fug of smoke from numerous pipes as close as a flea on a blanket. The table tops bore the signs of much use; scorch marks from untended pipes and overturned candles, ring marks left by bottles and tankards, stale crumbs and other things he would rather not know of. Not the most salubrious surroundings, but suitable for both his pocket and his purpose for now.

He was left alone and in turn offered no conversation to any of the patrons who sat close to him. The serving wench headed his way, but he waved her off and she did not approach him again, preferring to bandy words with better paying customers.

He sat in his corner, sipping his ale, occasionally glancing out the fly stained window pane at the busy street. Coster mongers, hackneys and other traffic trundled by but it was the foot traffic that interested him. He took note of the colours and styles of the coats the gentlemen wore. If he carefully managed the money his aunt provided he might again visit his tailor and order a new wardrobe. Lascivious thoughts about the women on the gentlemens’ arms gave him momentary entertainment. What delights may be found beneath their walking gowns, and what deep, dark secrets might they harbour
in their dreams?

The day was still clear and dry and, once he’d drained his tankard, he got to his feet and made his way to the mews stables. He found the
jobmaster at work in a small office tucked just inside the yard gates and presented him with Rosemary’s note.

“What you looking for?” Stepper asked. “Hack or carriage?”

“A half way decent hack,” Peregrine responded.

Stepper nodded and Peregrine followed him across the yard and into the dim stable. A horseman by necessity rather than preference, he was still able to appreciate the clean air and sweet smell of hay he found there. The horses showed little curiosity as the men inspected them and continued to munch contentedly at the fodder in their mangers.

“I’d like to see this fellow,” Peregrine said, selecting a medium sized bay horse.

The horse was led outside where Peregrine ran his hand over its back and legs. The horse did not flinch and its legs were surprisingly unblemished. He nodded with satisfaction.

“Have him ready for me at nine thirty tomorrow morning,” he ordered, grimacing at the thought of such an early start.

“So early, sir?”

Peregrine smiled. Telling the truth was always far more preferable than lying.

“There is a young lady in whom I have an interest,” he said. “She enjoys a good gallop so prefers not to ride at the fashionable hour. I happen to know she is only accompanied by her groom, and thought I might get to know a little more of her if I were close by.”

Stepper nodded his understanding and returned the horse to its stall.

As Peregrine turned to leave the stable yard, two men rode in leading a horse apiece.

“You there,” the smarter of the two called. “Are you Stepper?”

“Certainly not,” Peregrine said. He jerked his head towards the stable door. “He’s inside.”

The rider dismounted, gave his reins to his companion and disappeared through the doorway. Peregrine paused for a moment, his attention caught by the second man’s narrowed eyes and down turned mouth.

“Let me guess,” he said quietly. “Not exactly successful business partners?”

“Aye, summat like that,” was the short response. “More like bloody master and servant if you ask me. Just ‘cause ‘e’s a sodding captain and me plain rank and file.”

“Ah, I see. You are both military men?”

“As was, you might say. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Just curious,” Peregrine said pleasantly. “So are these two bone-setters for sale?”

The man slid from his mount and pushed one of the horses roughly aside as he turned to face Peregrine. “Aye. Me ‘n the captain are ‘orse copers, like, and I ‘ope this Stepper fella takes these two off our ‘ands.”

“A little more settled a business than soldiering, I would have thought,” Peregrine remarked.

The other man grunted. “Must ‘ave been dicked in the nob when I fell in wi’ Captain ‘igh ‘n mighty Kellen.”

“So why did you?”

“You’re a right nosey parker, ain’t ‘cha?”

“I admit my curiosity sometimes gets the better of me.” Peregrine inclined his head by way of apology. “But a Captain and foot soldier in business together is something of a novelty.”

A shrug greeted Peregrine’s observation. “’E ‘ad the money, I ‘ad the know ‘ow. Neither of us ‘ad better prospects after we left the Peninsula.”

“Ah. So you’d both served your time?”

“Got tired of being shot at, didn’t I, ‘specially after I nearly copped it at Salamanca.”

Before Peregrine could respond, Stepper and Captain Kellen emerged from the stable.

“Alright, Hooper,” the Captain said. “Mr. Stepper thinks he can make do with these two but wants to see them trotted out.”

Peregrine eased his back against the wall and watched as Hooper tethered his charges. A man with a grudge was often a man to make use of. The horses were duly paraded, had their teeth looked at and legs inspected and then the bargaining began. Stepper and Kellen finally reached an agreement and shook hands before entering the office.

“I heard that Salamanca was a most tedious battle before Wellington won the day,” Peregrine said casually.

Hooper looked up. “You ‘eard right. ‘Ot as ‘Ades it were too, marchin’ to an’ fro across that bloody plain and right putrid in the ‘ospital.”

“Were you very badly wounded?”

“Told ya, I nearly copped it. Would ‘ave done too, if it ‘adn’t been for Miss
Em.”

The short hairs on Peregrine’s neck stiffened. Had he heard right?
Could he possibly be so lucky as to learn something of Emmaline Devereux before he had actually started his search?

“
Miss Em? Was that a nurse?” he enquired.

“Sort of.
Emmaline somebody or other. Proper lady, she were. Not like some ‘o them gin sodden doxies who weren’t no better than the camp followers. The surgeons respected ‘er too, and that says somethin’. She ‘elped them with amputations and stitchin’ an’ the like from what I ‘eard. Not sure who she were, but she saved more than one. An’ those what couldn’t be saved, well, she stitched ‘em into their shrouds same as the orderlies.”

“She sounds like a positive angel,” Peregrine murmured. He could hardly contain his interest but kept his tone level as he continued to lounge against the wall. “And was she blonde and blue eyed?”

“Blue eyed, yeah. But ‘er ‘air were black, not blonde.”

“And what happened to her?”

Hooper shrugged again. “I ‘eard she’d gone orf with a Frenchie. Never saw ‘er again.”

The flow of information dried up abruptly as Captain Kellen, with a look of satisfaction on his face, came out of Stepper’s office. He nodded at Peregrine in passing.

“Our business is concluded for today, Hooper,” he said as he took his horse. “I’ll not have further need of you.”

“What about my share of the profit?” Hooper hung on to the bridle, preventing Kellen from moving off.

“You’ll get that after I’ve paid a bill or two at Tattersall’s,” Kellen said. “Meet me there at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. And start looking out for a pair of matched greys. We may well do business with Mr. Stepper again.”

Maybe today is not wasted after all, Peregrine thought as he caught the bitterness that flashed across Hooper’s face when Kellen rode out of the yard. He fingered the coins in his pocket. Enough for two tankards of ale or one game of cards. There really was only one option.

“This could be your lucky day, Hooper,” he said softly. “I think I might be able to employ your services in another direction. What say you? Will you join me for a tankard of ale?”

Hooper considered the offer for a moment, then nodded his agreement.

Peregrine directed him to The Bunch of Grapes.

If he played his cards right, Hooper would be in his pocket by morning.

***

Peregrine glowed with a sense of well-being as he trotted his job horse along Rotten Row. Not only did he now have Hooper exactly where he wanted him, he also had a tidy sum of money in his pocket.

After leaving The Bunch of Grapes, he had the extreme good fortune to run into the two young bucks from Almack’s. They were more than willing to accompany him to the same gaming hell where he nursed them along as on their first meeting.

Win some, lose some, win a little more, then congratulate them on their skill and leave them the winners. He had their direction and knew they would cross paths again. If anyone suspected him of cheating, they kept their mouths shut. Peregrine was so sure of his skill he was positive no one would be able to spot when he palmed a card, or drew one from his sleeve.

His horse tossed its head at an approaching group of riders. As they were only grooms Peregrine ignored them but as they passed him he realized what ideal cover they would be. His riding clothes were buff breeches and a sombre brown jacket. Clothing that, while of a little better quality, was not much a cut above what the grooms were wearing.

Some were in their household’s livery, worn to show off their status and quality of the horse they rode, but most were simply dressed.

Peregrine crossed the track and fell in behind the group. A sardonic grin split his face as he listened to one groom bemoaning to another the indignity of having to ride his mistress’s horse side-saddle. He continued to listen, but kept his eyes open, warily glancing from side to side so he would not miss Avondale’s party.

They had almost reached the Hyde Park gate when one of the leading grooms spoke up.

“There she is. You watch this.”

The groom guided his horse to the shade of some trees. Everyone followed and turned to watch the group now trotting smartly along the row.

Emmaline was in the lead. Even at this distance Peregrine caught her excitement, evident in her posture and her horse’s pricked ears and arched neck. The little brown horse surged forward, leaving a scatter of gravel and tan flying up in its wake. The rest of the group, Juliana, Beamish, Avondale and his old groom, followed on at a steadier pace.

“She’s a cracking little rider, ain’t she?” the groom beside him said. “Never seen anyone like that afor. Think you could do as well, young Cotter?”

Young Cotter, the side-saddle groom, muttered something under his breath that Peregrine didn’t catch but was sure was entirely uncomplimentary. Having watched Emmaline gallop away, the group now began to disperse.

Peregrine rode
on with a few of them but gradually fell behind until he was sure nobody paid him any attention. He was just one rider among several as he made his way back to the shelter of the trees

After a good half hour, he spotted Avondale’s party on their return journey. Avondale rode alongside Emmaline, Beamish beside Juliana and the groom a respectable distance behind.

Peregrine watched them pass and then slowly followed them. His job horse was pleasantly obedient, even mildly lazy so it was easy for him to keep his distance. He thought about from where he might watch the front door of Avondale’s Berkeley Square house and a frown of concentration furrowed his brow.

He couldn’t yet return his hack to the stables as his intent was to follow whatever conveyance took Emmaline home. It was with some relief when he realized the
party was clattering along the road towards Knightsbridge. He kept well back to avoid detection. When the party turned off the main road he rode on,. but quickly turned back and watched from the corner of the street to see at which house they stopped.

“Got you, Miss Devereux,” he said quietly as he watched Emmaline walk up a set of steps to one of the houses. She quickly disappeared inside the house and, satisfied, Peregrine rode away.

***

“You are late.” Rosemary’s voice was flat and accusing.

“With good reason, Aunt,” Peregrine replied, flopping down on a pink and white upholstered sofa. “Although, I am sure you will find my misdemeanor forgivable when I tell you the reason for it.”

Rosemary, her lips pressed tightly together
with displeasure, regarded him with loathing.

“You wanted information,” Peregrine said airily. “I was gathering it. I now know where Miss Devereux lives, and a lot more about her famil
y, where she has been and why she is in London.”