La Petite Four (7 page)

She did.

Emily set down her tools and reached for her locket, opening it for a moment to gaze at the tiny portrait inside. If only she could paint something of worth, something that would make Lady St. Gregory welcome Emily into the Royal Society with open arms. What could be finer than the company of other artists, people who thought like she did, people who understood and respected her? She could not let Lord Robert spoil that future for her. She
would
not.

She took a deep breath and got back to work.

8

Late the next morning, Emily was trying to determine precisely how blood would pool around a decapitated body when the footman announced she had visitors. Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne were eager to hear what she’d learned from her servants, but Emily only agreed to tell them after they promised to pose for her battle scene.

She would have preferred to use the footmen. Unfortunately, the last time she’d asked, two had become so carried away that a Chinese vase had been damaged, and Warburton had asked her not to involve the staff again.

As it was, only Daphne could stand straight and valiant enough to do Emily any good as a model soldier (though she was pleased to discover that Ariadne made an excellent corpse). Priscilla insisted on playing a duchess watching from the edge of the battlefield. Emily pointed out that duchesses, or most dukes for that matter, seldom went to war, but Priscilla was adamant, so Emily let it go at that.

“So,” she said as she studied the angle of Daphne’s chin, “we know that Lord Robert Townsend has no money and likes the ladies all too well.”

“Definitely not hero material,” Ariadne said, raising her head into a patch of sunlight that turned her hair to gold.

Emily wanted to disagree, but she couldn’t, so she merely ordered Ariadne to lie back down like a good corpse.

“It isn’t enough,” Priscilla said with a sigh. “A great many people find themselves with less money than they’d like. That doesn’t make them criminals.”

“But how is Lady Emily to know?” Ariadne asked from the floor.

“An excellent question,” Emily replied. “Please forgive me, Ariadne, but I deviated from your plan. First thing this morning, I sent one of our footmen with a note asking if Lord Robert would come calling this afternoon. I thought perhaps I’d get him to take me to see the Parthenon Marbles.”

Ariadne smiled. “An excellent strategy. Draw him out.”

Emily sighed as she stroked her brush across the oil on her palette. “I thought so. Unfortunately, he already answered me. He is too busy today to assist me but will take me to see the Marbles tomorrow. The footman reported that Lord Robert must shop this morning, and this afternoon he will be preparing to attend the Marchioness of Skelcroft’s ball.”

“Well, I like that,” Priscilla scoffed, eyes narrowing. “He’s only too happy to attend a ball when it isn’t ours!”

“That seems most unfair,” Daphne agreed.

“He must have some reason,” Ariadne insisted. “Could the marchioness be the married lady with whom he’d dallied?”

Emily’s hand jerked, smearing her stroke. She set the brush and palette down before she could do more damage. “I suppose I shall have to ask him.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened, and even Priscilla looked impressed, hurrying out of her pose at the edge of the thick carpet.

Daphne shook her head. “But you can’t. You don’t even have a chaperone.”

“Yes, whatever happened to your aunt Minerva?” Priscilla asked, moving to Emily’s side and frowning at the painting.

“Warburton insists that she is expected any day, but I have my doubts. Why would she come to London with the prospect of a new baby to cuddle? No, I simply cannot wait for her company to ask Lord Robert. I cannot wait even until tomorrow. We only have
seven days
. I must act now.”

“Well,” Priscilla said, “we can’t get ourselves invited to the marchioness’s ball tonight, but if Lord Robert is currently out shopping, you can be certain where he’ll be at some point or other.”

Ariadne and Daphne nodded. “Bond Street,” they chorused.

And that was how they all arrived on Bond Street, in search of Lord Robert.

Warburton hadn’t protested when Emily mentioned that the four of them would be together in the most famous shopping district in London on this sunny day. He’d even volunteered the carriage again. Emily’s nose was once more to the glass of the carriage’s windowpane as Mr. Phillips maneuvered the horses down Brooke Street and out into the bustling crowds along New Bond Street.

Fashionable shops hugged the street, their front windows displaying all manner of wonders, from satins that caught the light in a rainbow of colors to cakes topped with sugared plums. Everywhere strolled ladies in feathered hats, gentleman in shining boots. Maids with parasols and footmen laden with packages followed at a respectable distance, while children in tattered clothes darted among them, offering to hold horses, begging for coins.

“There!” Daphne cried, and Emily jumped. Following the line of her friend’s finger, she saw a certain tall, russet-haired gentleman just coming out of Number 13.

“That’s Gentleman Jackson’s,” Ariadne said. “You know, the Boxing Emporium where gentlemen go to learn
fisticuffs
.” She whispered this knowingly, sitting at the very edge of the cushioned seat.

Emily found it hard to imagine Lord Robert taking a punch to the jaw, but perhaps he was quick enough that he did more of the punching himself. He certainly didn’t seem any the worse for wear as he paused to tip his hat to a particularly pretty woman. Emily rapped on the panel overhead to get Mr. Phillips’s attention and directed him to let them out at the next corner. But the moment they set their boots to the pavement, Daphne seized Emily and Ariadne by an arm and dragged them into the recessed doorway of a linen draper’s shop.

“Priscilla,” she hissed, “quick, or he’ll see you!”

Priscilla slipped into the shadows with them. “Why are we hiding?” she asked as a group of young Hussars strolled by, the gold braid of their uniforms winking in the light. “The entire point of shopping on Bond Street is to see and be seen.”

“The point in shopping today is to learn more about Lord Robert,” Emily said. “Which will be a bit difficult in here.”

“I cannot imagine why this works in books,” Ariadne muttered, shifting to keep her elbow out of Emily’s stomach. “It’s quite uncomfortable.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want anyone to notice us following him,” Daphne said. “I’d like a reputation as a lady.” She paused to peer out. “Oh, it’s all right. He’s moved on.”

They spilled back onto the pavement in time to see Lord Robert strolling south toward Conduit Street. Emily tugged down the edges of her midnight blue quilted jacket and smoothed the wrinkles from her softer blue gown. “I appreciate your zeal, Daphne, but as I do wish to speak to him, I rather have to let him see me.”

Daphne blushed. “Sorry.” She absently adjusted her green wool pelisse as well, stroking over the jade braiding of the long, fitted coat as if her hands needed something to do. Priscilla and Ariadne were also tweaking their pale muslin skirts or straightening a bit of lace across their shoulders. Anyone would think they’d come to speak to Lord Robert too!

With a shake of her head, Emily started after him. The sweet smell of baking cakes vied with the scent of lavender from the perfumery next door, but she fancied she smelled the tang of cloves over it all. Then she spotted him just ahead. He had stopped at a bow window and stood looking at the merchandise displayed therein. His head was cocked, as if whatever he contemplated required his complete concentration.

“That’s Stedman and Vardon,” Priscilla whispered over the rumble of passing carriages as the four of them ventured closer. “Jewelers to the aristocracy.”

Ariadne sighed. “What if he’s purchasing an engagement present for you, Emily?”

“He’s wasting his time. At any formal function, I have to wear the Emerson emeralds, at least until my sister, Helena, produces an heir, who will then have to give them to
his
wife.”

“Still,” Daphne pressed, “it is rather romantic.”

Emily had no time to comment, for Lord Robert seemed to have made up his mind. With a nod, he set off in the opposite direction. The girls had to hurry to keep up. Other shoppers exited in front of them, laden with packages, and they had to detour. A street urchin darted past, shouting, and they had to lift their skirts out of the way. The Hussars caught sight of Priscilla and converged, and that took a few moments to straighten out, leaving Priscilla with four calling cards and Daphne, to her amazement, with three.

By the time they caught sight of Lord Robert again, he was turning the corner onto Vigo Lane.

“Where is he going?” Ariadne panted, one hand on her straw bonnet, which was already a bit squashed from their time in the doorway and their confrontation with the soldiers.

“I don’t know,” Priscilla said just as breathlessly. “But if he continues at this pace, I shall expire on the pavement!”

“I have some lavender-sulfuric smelling salts,” Daphne offered. She alone had no trouble keeping up, striding along with her muslin skirts flapping. “Lord Snedley highly recommends them after an exertion of a quarter mile or more.”

Lord Snedley must have the constitution of a butterfly. But having a weak constitution certainly wasn’t Lord Robert’s problem. Emily even tried calling to him at one point, but she must have been too out of breath, for he didn’t so much as turn.

In fact, he kept walking and walking, and Emily couldn’t help but notice that they were straying ever farther from fashionable Bond Street. Soon the shops were narrower and darker, with no windows facing the avenue and far fewer shoppers. Ladies lounged in doorways, eyeing La Petite Four with narrowed eyes. Men in rough coats and heavy boots stalked past or, worse, stopped and stared.

One slouched up in front of them and held out a grimy hand.

“Penny for an old man?” the toothless fellow begged, his face even grimier than his hand.

Daphne began to open her reticule, but Priscilla snatched her hand and pulled her on.

“Do not show your money here,” she whispered. “Emily, I think we should go back.”

Ariadne was gazing about, wide-eyed. “No, this research is priceless.”

“So is your virtue,” Priscilla countered. “And I for one do not intend to lose it to a ruffian.”

Up ahead, Lord Robert had just entered a shop. Emily could see the sign hanging above the door.

“Messiers and Sons,” Ariadne read as they paused to catch their breath. “And see the diamond below? It’s another jeweler.”

“Odd place for a jeweler,” Emily mused.

“It’s a consignment shop,” Priscilla said quietly. “People sell their jewels here when they have nothing left to sell, or change them to paste copies so no one will know they’re destitute. Father’s mentioned it.”

So Emily had been right about the money. Perhaps Lord Robert’s father had gambled away the funds. She couldn’t see how Robert could have done so; surely his brother would have put a stop to it.

“We should go,” she said, taking a step back. “Lord Robert won’t want us to know his family’s in such dire straits.”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Ariadne murmured. “To be blighted in his expectations. It’s a classic plot.”

And it explained his need to marry and soon, at that. Her dowry would come in very handy. But her father must have been aware of the Townsends’ financial straits from the marriage settlements, so once again, she had nothing to use to convince him to break the engagement and let her attend the ball. Disappointment bit sharply. Could nothing go right?

Shoulders slumping, she turned with the others to go back the way they had come. Then she jerked to a stop.

Blocking their way was the toothless fellow who had begged for a penny earlier. His face was red and blotchy, his nose crossed with bulging veins. His shoulders were bunched under his tattered coat, and his fists were as big as hams.

“Spare a penny or two, love?” The request was more like a demand, and he shoved out his hand again, as if expecting obedience.

Daphne bumped into Ariadne in her haste to move away, and Priscilla clutched her reticule closer. That was not the way of it, Emily was certain. Bullies you had to face down.

“I’m afraid we have nothing for you,” Emily said, forcing herself not to tremble. “Step aside and let us pass.”

“Bossy ‘lil thing, ain’t you?” he grumbled, straightening and narrowing his eyes. “If yer such a fine lady, where’s yer escort, then? Who’s to stop me from taking what I want from any of you lot?”

“I am,” a voice said behind him, and Emily caught her breath.

9

The toothless behemoth swiveled, and there stood James Cropper behind him, feet planted and arms at the ready. He gave Emily his two-fingered salute before turning his frown on the fellow.

“Do as the lady says and step aside.”

The creature easily had a stone’s weight on Mr. Cropper, and she shuddered to think how his handsome face would look after it met those grimy fists. But to her surprise, the beggar ducked his head and shuffled his feet. “Didn’t mean no ‘arm, sir. ’Ow was I to know the lady was wif you?”

Mr. Cropper stepped forward. “I’ll grant you you’ll not meet her likes in the stews very often.” He turned to Emily then and offered her his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting you home?”

He hadn’t used her title or name, but she rather thought it was because the beggar was watching. In some places, a duke’s daughter would fetch a high ransom, she’d heard. She truly didn’t want the man to think she was without escort. But was she any safer with Mr. Cropper?

As if he guessed her concerns, his smile softened. The light in those remarkably fine gray eyes was as welcome as sunlight through the mist and warmed her just as gently. She put her hand on his arm. “The honor is all mine, sir.”