A Not So Respectable Gentleman? (7 page)

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Am I not in danger already? Do me the courtesy of including me in any discussion of what might save me from Kellford.’

His eyes flashed at her words. ‘It is not a good plan. Too much can go wrong.’

‘I thought it was a good plan,’ Walker chimed in.

Mariel fixed Leo with a glare. ‘Tell me of it and let me decide.’

‘You might as well tell her, Fitz,’ Walker said.

Leo flashed him an annoyed look, before facing Mariel again. ‘The idea is for you to confront Kellford. Tell him you do not believe that there is a forged banknote. Ask him to produce it for you or you will refuse to marry him. Then you coordinate with Walker and me the time you arrange to meet him. We’ll know Kellford has the paper and we will take it from him.’

It was a brilliant idea. ‘Do you actually think he would agree to show me the paper? Would he not merely refuse?’

His eyes found hers. ‘You would have to convince him. Stand up to him. He needs your money. He will not be able to refuse you.’

She easily set her mind on it. ‘I will do it. The risk means nothing to me.’ Anything to free herself of this marriage.

* * *

John Walker’s attention wandered away from the discussion between Miss Covendale and Fitzmanning. His gaze slid to the pretty blonde standing near him, the one who’d warned of his presence.

She must be Miss Covendale’s maid, he decided, although being a mere maid seemed too confining for such a beauty. She reminded him of a portrait he’d seen in Florence, a painting of timeless, ethereal beauty.

In addition to teaching him to read and write, Fitz had exposed him to such things as mathematics, science, literature and art. He’d easily perceived the usefulness of science and maths and literature, but art? What use was art? That Italian portrait taught him.

Like the portrait, this young woman had pale skin, huge brown eyes fringed with dark lashes, lips as pink as roses. Her thick, blonde curls were too luxurious to be contained by her bonnet.

His throat grew dry as he merely gazed upon her.

She turned to him and asked in a quiet voice, ‘What are they talking about?’

Walker felt his cheeks burn at this scant notice from her.

He answered her in a low voice, ‘Lord Kellford has a paper that would cause Miss Covendale’s father harm. If we can take possession of the paper from him, she will not have to marry him.’ He was surprised he could form so many words.

She turned away again, as if thinking on this, then glanced back at him, her lovely brow furrowed. ‘Will she truly be in danger?’

He took a step towards her, drawn to her as a magnet attracts metal. ‘We will protect her.’

Her face relaxed and gratitude shone in her eyes.

He swallowed and extended his hand. ‘I am John Walker.’

She put her small delicate hand in his. ‘I am Penny Jenkins, Miss Covendale’s maid.’ She looked up at him with her wide brown eyes. ‘Are you really a valet?’

He tried to smile. ‘Among other things.’

‘You do not look like a valet.’

He averted his gaze, well aware his appearance spoke of mean origins in the East End. He could hardly remember a time there when he had not needed to fight just to reach the next morning. Walker had yearned to escape. He had finally managed it, fleeing to the Continent and making his way to Paris. But he knew only thieving and fighting and nothing had changed but the city. Until Fitz happened upon a street fight, that is. Walker had been outnumbered and was taking a beating, but Fitz had come to his aid, fighting hard for a complete stranger. By the end of it one man lay dead and both he and Fitz were wounded. They’d gone to Fitz’s rooms to recuperate. Walker never left. Fitz taught him to read and to think and to behave with decorum. Walker taught Leo how to survive the seamier side of life.

When Walker turned his gaze back to Miss Jenkins, though, he felt as if every sordid act he’d ever committed showed on his face.

She tilted her lovely head. ‘I thought valets were all skinny men.’

His cheeks heated. Hers had been an admiring glance?

She transferred her attention back to her lady, who was at the moment listening to Fitz.

‘We need a way for you to inform us of when and where the meeting will take place,’ Fitz said.

Miss Covendale glanced over at her maid. ‘Perhaps Penny can carry the message.’

Then Walker would see her again? His heart beat a little faster, but the young woman looked distressed.

‘Do you object to that idea, Miss Jenkins?’ he asked as Fitz and Miss Covendale continued talking.

Again her expression cleared. ‘Oh, no. I am just so worried about her. I heard your employer say that Lord Kellford will hurt her. I cannot bear that thought.’

‘Were you to go with her if she married?’

She shook her head unhappily. ‘She will not allow it.’ She lifted her gaze to him. ‘But, if she marries Lord Kellford, somebody has to be there to help her. She cannot go alone.’

As if this sprite would be any match for Kellford’s whips. More likely Miss Jenkins would merely become another of Kellford’s victims.

Walker glanced over to Miss Covendale and Fitz. They dealt together as if she was a great deal more than an old family friend.

He asked Miss Jenkins, ‘Do you know what there is between them?’

She shook her head. ‘I do not even know who he is.’

‘He is Leo Fitzmanning, the natural brother of the Duke of Manning.’

Her eyes widened and he assumed she would comment on Fitz’s irregular birth. ‘A duke’s brother!’ she exclaimed instead, clearly impressed.

‘He is a good man,’ Walker commented to no purpose.

What would this beauty think if she knew of
his
birth? Walker knew nothing of his father. All he remembered of his mother was her leaving him alone at night in their dark, tiny room, with frightening sounds coming at him through the walls. He remembered her death, a slow, wasting ebbing away of her life.

Women in service might come from humble origins, but their employers demanded their reputations be unblemished. In comparison his reputation was a festering sore.

Like the Italian portrait, Penny Jenkins was something to admire from afar, not something he could aspire to possess.

Miss Covendale’s voice rose. ‘Penny, come. We are finished here.’

Fitz put his hand on Mariel’s arm. ‘You will send word to us?’

The way they looked at each other... Yes, Walker suspected something existed between them, something now fraught with complexity.

If Miss Jenkins looked at him with that same pent-up yearning, he would do anything for her.

Chapter Seven

A
fter parting with Mariel, Leo and Walker took a path through the park to return to Leo’s rooms on Jermyn Street. Walker, typically so alert, seemed preoccupied with watching his feet.

‘Is something troubling you, Walker?’ Leo asked.

His friend glanced up in surprise. ‘No—no—nothing.’

There was much troubling Leo.

He was becoming more and more affected by Mariel with each moment he spent in her presence. She looked beautiful this morning in the fawn-coloured walking dress that highlighted her ginger-coloured eyes and chestnut hair. He knew that he had never stopped loving her, not even when he’d thought she’d rejected him.

His yearning for her now was nearly unbearable.

Sometimes he sensed the same yearning in her, but likely that was his own desire creating an illusion.

Not that it mattered. He’d changed in these last two years. He no longer wanted the things they’d planned together, a business the
ton
were bound to respect. He no longer cared what anyone thought. He wanted to be a success in his own eyes and to the devil with everyone else. Mariel still worried about her family being ruined and he could not deny that the disdain of society could ruin a woman’s life.

Besides, she’d not forgiven him for leaving her—and well she should not, although he’d forgiven her the instant he realised it was his inconstancy, not hers, that had separated them. And to think now he was putting himself and Mariel at risk merely to protect the honour of her father, whose duplicity had already done irreparable injury to them both.

He’d prefer to solve the problem of Kellford alone, but in any event, he must resolve the problem quickly and keep Mariel safe. They should have conceived a plan to procure the incriminating banknote that did not involve her.

‘Walker.’ Leo’s voice was harsh, as if Walker were privy to his thoughts. ‘You should not have forced me to disclose that plan to Miss Covendale. I told you I wished to leave her out of it.’

Walker scoffed. ‘How else were we supposed to find the paper? There’s little more than two weeks before she’s to wed the lout.’

They exited the park through the Stanhope gate and walked through the town houses to Piccadilly. When they reached Jermyn Street, a familiar figure walked towards them.

Leo’s brother Stephen.

Stephen’s face lit up when he saw Leo. ‘Ah! How fortunate. I was disappointed not finding you at home.’ He shook Leo’s hand. ‘Good to see you.’

Walker stepped back as befitted a valet.

‘Hope you are well, Stephen.’ Leo managed to sound reasonably glad to see his brother, although his emotions were so tied up with Mariel that the last thing he needed was a brother primed to come to his aid. ‘Sorry to have missed your call.’

Stephen smiled. ‘Nothing’s missed. I’ll go back with you.’

* * *

As they entered Leo’s rooms, Walker said, ‘Shall I bring some whisky, sir?’

Leo could use some spirits right now. ‘Whisky, Stephen?’

His brother removed his hat and gloves. ‘Delighted.’

‘Have a seat.’ Leo tried to sound cordial. ‘I assume you have a purpose in calling upon me.’

By the time they were seated, Walker had produced a bottle and two glasses. He poured them each a drink and with a bow—as if he were a typical servant—he left the room.

‘So, what is it, Stephen?’ Better not to tarry.

His brother took a sip and raised his brows in appreciation of the flavour. ‘I don’t have a particular reason for calling, except to see how you are getting on.’

Leo was surprised. ‘You are not going to try to give me new stables and an abundance of breeding stock?’

Stephen’s expression brightened. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

Leo put up a hand. ‘No! Not in the least. I told you I am never breeding horses again.’ That desire had truly passed.

Unlike his desire for Mariel.

Stephen settled back in his chair. ‘So... How are you getting on?’

Leo sipped his drink. ‘Splendidly.’

‘Nicholas said you have been attending society functions.’

He’d been talking to Nicholas. Leo could imagine their conversation.
How can we help our poor bastard brother?

‘Not many.’

‘You are welcome to accompany Mae and me any time you wish. We receive almost as many invitations as Nicholas. I know he is refusing more of them now that Emily is getting closer to her time.’

Leo felt a stab of shame. Stephen’s generosity was based on deep family affection. Leo understood that.

‘I appreciate the offer.’ He changed the subject. ‘I trust Mae fares well? And the children?’

Stephen beamed. ‘They fare excellently well...’ Stephen went on to describe the latest antics of his children, whose lives Leo had almost entirely missed.

His nieces and nephews were a blur. He doubted he even had an accurate count. They were part of a world into which Leo did not fit.

‘I say—’ Stephen lifted his glass to his lips ‘—you ought to come visit us in Sussex. It would be like old times.’

Leo’s days helping Stephen establish his stud farm had been productive ones and Leo had learned everything he’d needed to know to establish his own farm at Welbourne Manor. They’d been productive days, but it had been like living another man’s life.

‘We’re only in town for the Season,’ Stephen went on. ‘I confess, I am eager to return.’

Leo raised his glass in a toast. ‘To Sussex.’

Stephen’s horse farm, smelling the stable smells, hearing the stable noises, touching the horses—that was a part of Leo’s past. He’d moved on to explore and conquer new worlds and experiences. He’d grown in strength and character and wealth as a result. He experienced deep satisfaction over devising an investment scheme, carrying it out and having it succeed. His associates were in trade, trafficking and manufacture, hardly acceptable in the world in which he’d grown up.

The world that included Mariel.

Leo downed the rest of his whisky and stared into his empty glass.

‘Leo?’ Stephen’s voice jarred him back to the present.

‘Sorry.’ Leo cleared his throat. ‘Was I wool-gathering?’

Stephen looked at him with concern. ‘Does something trouble you? Does it have something to do with why you wish to re-enter society?’

‘I told you before—all of you—I am not
troubled.
There are no problems you need fix for me. It is time for me to re-enter society, that is all.’

Stephen persisted. ‘Are you in the market for a wife?’

‘No!’ he snapped, then made himself laugh. ‘Good God, no. I’m not ready to be leg-shackled.’

Stephen smiled. ‘You say that now, but you will change your mind when the right woman comes along.’

Except she already had come along—and Leo had deserted her.

Stephen finished his drink and stood. ‘I should be on my way.’

Leo stood, as well. He and Walker had some preparations to make. It would not be the first time they’d planned an ambush.

At the door, Stephen shook his hand again. ‘Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.’ He held Leo’s hand longer than necessary and gave him a direct look. ‘It is good to see you, Leo. I am glad you are back.’

Suddenly Leo missed those days at Welbourne Manor when he and his brothers and sisters were free to laugh and play and enjoy life.

His brother crossed the threshold and stepped into the street. A moment later he was gone.

* * *

That afternoon Kellford called at the Covendale town house, as was expected of a betrothed gentleman. It would not be all tedium. He anticipated and rather relished another sparring match with his spirited heiress.

He’d driven his phaeton—Tilbury’s latest design and the height of fashion, he was told. Having the best was important to him, even if he did not care a whit about horses or carriages.

Leaving his phaeton in the hands of his groom, Kellford knocked upon the town-house door. He was admitted by a footman and escorted to the drawing room where Mrs Covendale and her daughter were taking tea.

‘Kellford, my dear boy, how good it is to see you,’ Mrs Covendale chirped, extending her hands to him from the sofa where she sat, a piece of embroidery at her side.

‘You look as lovely as ever, my good lady.’ He leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek, before turning to her daughter in a chair nearby. ‘And you look quite fetching as well, Miss Covendale.’

The mother tittered. ‘My gracious, you are to marry her, Kellford, you may call her Mariel.’

An honour Miss Covendale had not yet granted him. He smiled at her as if she’d not given him a slight. ‘Only with your permission, my dear.’

Her face conveyed no emotion. ‘Whatever pleases you, sir.’

He laughed inside. She had no idea what pleased him, but she would soon learn.

‘Mariel it is, then.’ He bowed to her.

‘Please do be seated, Kellford.’ Mrs Covendale patted the space next to her. ‘Have a cup of tea with us and tell us whatever news you have heard in town.’

He sipped tea and regaled the mother with various bits of gossip he’d heard, thinking all the while that he would have preferred to marry into a titled family. Mariel, the mere granddaughter of a second son, was quite a bit below him, but she would have to do. Still, she was presentable, she was a challenge and, most of all, she would make him very rich.

He was fully cognisant of the fact that she did not want to marry him, but that did not trouble him overmuch, not with a fortune as large as she would provide. It had been a stroke of luck when her father confided in him about his money problems. That information gave him what he needed to discover the man’s crime and win the hand of this heiress.

She would eventually learn how fortunate she was to be married to a baron, but for now he would enjoy the challenge of winning her over. He was confident he could do so.

When he took his last sip of tea, he placed his cup on the table and addressed his reluctant bride. ‘Mariel, my dear, I brought my phaeton and would derive great pleasure in taking you for a turn in the park.’

It was the fashionable hour and he rather wanted to be seen with her, to show the
ton
he had won the heiress, to rub their noses in it.

She stared at him, with that impassive expression of hers, before answering, ‘Very well. Give me a moment to change.’

* * *

A short time later they pulled into Hyde Park and found a space among the other fashionable carriages circulating the paths. With his liveried groom standing on the back footboard, Kellford trusted his equipage showed to good advantage.

He had to admit that Mariel looked equally impressive in her dark blue carriage dress.

He greeted everyone he saw and was gratified to receive their admiring glances.

Eventually the crush of carriages thinned and there were fewer people to impress.

‘Shall we leave the park, my dear?’ he asked, glancing over at her.

To his surprise she replied, ‘Not yet. There is something I wish to discuss with you.’

‘My pleasure.’ His interest was roused.

Her face turned deadly serious and she lowered her voice. ‘My father told me that you have in your possession a banknote that proves he improperly appropriated money from his cousin.’

Kellford lifted his brows. Her father had told her of the banknote? How foolish of him. The man should have kept his mouth shut.

She blinked. ‘Well, do you have the paper or not?’

He smiled. ‘I have it, never fear.’

She shifted in her seat. ‘How do I know you are not bluffing?’

He simply stared at her.

She glanced away and back. ‘How do I know this is not some elaborate ruse to force me into marriage and to get your hands on my inheritance? For all I know you may have merely heard some piece of gossip and embellished it.’

She dared to question him?

His smile stayed fixed. ‘Trust me on it...’ he paused ‘...or not. It is your father and your family who will pay the consequences if you are wrong.’

Her smile matched his own. ‘Or it is
you
who pays the consequences if I am right. Can you hold off your creditors until you find another heiress to coerce?’

He gripped the ribbons and his face flushed with anger. ‘What do you propose, then? You want proof that your father is nothing better than a common thief?’

‘That is precisely what I want,’ she shot back. ‘I want to see this banknote you claim to possess. I want to hold it in my hands and convince myself it is genuine and not a forgery.’

‘Forgery?’ he huffed. ‘It is your father who commits forgery, not I!’

Her gaze did not waver. ‘No, your crimes are extortion and—and—other offences.’

He forgot about the horses and seized her arm. ‘You impertinent chit! You will be sorry for this!’

A tiny flash of fear appeared in her eyes. It aroused him.

She straightened. ‘Take your hand off me or I shall scream. Your groom might be trained to ignore me, but there are others near enough to hear.’

A quick glance behind him revealed other carriages approaching. He opened his hand, retrieved the ribbons, flicking them to signal the horses to increase their pace.

‘Will you show me the paper, or shall I break our engagement?’ she persisted.

He collected himself. ‘Very well.’ He put on an ingratiating smile. ‘I will bring it to the ball tomorrow night.’

‘No.’

She dared to disagree with him?

She explained, ‘It is too public a place. If this paper is real, I will not have anyone else discovering its
contents.’

He feigned solicitousness. ‘Shall I bring it directly to your father’s door, then?’

She shook her head. ‘My mother must know nothing of this. A private place, I think.’ She glanced around the park. ‘There.’ She pointed. ‘That bench over there. Meet me there at seven tomorrow morning.’

‘Seven tomorrow morning?’ His voice rose.

She might as well have said to meet her at dawn. Was she fancying this to be some sort of duel?

‘No one will be about at that hour and it is but a short walk for me from my house.’

‘Very well.’ He could not believe he was allowing her to dictate to him, but she had guessed one thing correctly. He could not afford to have her cry off. Mr Carter and the other money lenders would refuse him more time, high interest rate or not.