La Petite Four (8 page)

“Sir, is it now?” the beggar chortled. “Since when does a lady walk with the likes of you?”

“When the lady is sufficiently gracious,” Mr. Cropper said, leading her past him. “And so are her friends.” His pointed look sent Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne scuttling in their wake. With a shake of his head, the beggar moved away.

Emily strolled along beside Mr. Cropper as if they were touring Hyde Park on a lovely spring afternoon, but she walked so close to him, her skirts brushed his brown trousers, and her gloved fingers seemed to want to curl around his strong arm and not let go. She cast him a quick glance, but he’d pulled his hat down lower over his eyes, and she couldn’t catch a glimpse of them. She knew Priscilla must have found his brown wool coat lacking. Emily could not be so strict. He’d acted the part of hero, hadn’t he?

But just when Emily was in complete charity with him, he sighed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, as if she hadn’t realized it for herself. “This is no place for a lady.”

Yet it was
his
place, she saw. He walked as if he owned the street. People came toward them, some of them bigger and darker than the beggar, and it took only a nod from him to send them packing. Not a few of them looked fearful as they did so.

“It appears you know it well,” she said.

He laughed. “Oh, I’m no stranger to the stews. But you should be. Do you have any inkling of the danger you were in?”

She was beginning to get the general idea, but she didn’t much appreciate the reminder. “While I acknowledge your help, sir, I cannot like your tone.”

“No,” he replied. “I imagine most people bow and scrape when they meet you. I’d rather save your life.”

Ariadne had opened her reticule for her journal and pencil and was frantically scrawling as she walked.

“Do you truly think our lives were in danger?” Daphne put in, glancing around nervously.

“Four beautiful young ladies, wandering the streets with purses full of silver? What do you think?”

“Beautiful,” Ariadne muttered.

“I don’t recall Lord Snedley covering that,” Daphne whispered to Priscilla.

“I told them this was foolish,” Priscilla announced at full voice. “And I for one thank you for your gallant assistance, Mr. Cropper.”

What was she doing? Emily had seen that look before, directed at any marriageable, titled gentleman who was so unlucky as to grace the front parlor at Barnsley. Priscilla was trying to attach Mr. Cropper’s regard!

Emily’s hand tightened on his arm. “I suppose,” she allowed, “it was fortunate you happened upon us.”

“It was difficult not to happen upon you,” he said. “You were rather obvious, hurrying along behind Lord Robert.”

“And just what are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

He smiled. “Even a fellow like me can appreciate the sights of Bond Street, your ladyship.”

His look made Emily’s cheeks heat. Had she been right before? Was he following her? The air was suddenly too warm to breathe.

“And did you appreciate the sights at the Townsend town house as well?” she managed.

“The Townsend town house, your ladyship?”

He sounded so innocent, his face relaxed and open, but she knew it for an act. He ought to take a role in one of the plays Ariadne liked to write. Of course, very likely he’d have to play the villain.

“Yes. Do not deny you were there. I saw you, under the trees.”

“Watching for me, were you?” he asked with a grin.

“I most certainly was not!”

“Oh, come now,” Priscilla said. “You do seem to notice the fellow with alarming regularity.”

Well, if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black! How many times had Priscilla been swayed by a handsome face and a muscular arm? Just look at the Hussars this afternoon! If she didn’t watch her step, she’d end up running off with a footman and forget all about finding a duke!

“It was not that I was watching you, Mr. Cropper,” Emily said with a glare to Priscilla. “But as an artist, I notice when things are out of perspective.”

“Yes, I heard you painted,” he said, leaving Emily to wonder who had been gossiping about her. “And you’re quite smart enough to have noticed that something’s havey cavey with Lord Robert. However, I cannot like your methods. If you suspect him of something, you should notify the authorities.”

“Suspect Lord Robert?” she asked, her pulse quickening once more in excitement. “Do you imply Lord Robert could be guilty of some crime?”

He raised his brows. “Were you following him for some other reason? Good Lord, you don’t actually fancy the fellow!”

“For shame, sir,” Daphne said. “He is her betrothed.”

His jaw tightened, and he faced forward. “My condolences.”

Emily stopped, forcing him to halt as well. “If you know something about him, sir, I demand that you speak plainly. As far as we’ve been able to tell, he is a gentleman.”

“Which is why you chose to follow him all over London.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Have a care, Lady Emily. He may just turn out to be a scoundrel after all. For everyone’s sake, it would be better if you left the fellow alone.”

10

James Cropper insisted on riding home with them to the Southwell town house and spent several moments in heated conversation with Warburton. When Mr. Cropper touched two fingers to his forehead in good-bye, Emily raised her chin and looked away. Priscilla nodded as if she were quite proud of her.

Warburton, however, was far less complimentary. “I hope Mr. Cropper was able to impress upon you the seriousness of your actions,” he said, affixing them all with a hard-eyed look. “If your parents found out, Miss Tate, Misses Courdebas, I rather doubt they’d allow you all to visit Bond Street again.”

Daphne and Ariadne hung their heads, and Priscilla’s expressive green eyes filled with tears.

“We are sincerely sorry, Mr. Warburton,” she said tremulously. “And we would be most grateful if you could find it in your heart not to tell our parents. Surely we should spare them such worry.”

Ariadne began looking for her pencil.

Warburton gazed down at her. “I believe that can be arranged, Miss Tate. However, you must understand that London can be a dangerous place, whether you are on Bond Street or in Mayfair. Are you aware that a young lady from the Barnsley School was robbed the other day?”

If he had not had their attention before, he had it now.

“Who?” Priscilla demanded, tears evaporating.

“Miss Acantha Dalrymple. Her pearls were taken. Her father is most displeased, and her maid has been sacked for not paying sufficient attention to the jewel case.”

“I’m very sorry for the maid,” Priscilla said, “but I cannot be sorry for Miss Dalrymple. She flaunted those pearls at the least provocation. Is it any wonder she lost them?”

Daphne was bouncing up and down on her leather half boots, her green skirts billowing with each movement. “Oh, oh, but she didn’t lose them in London! She lost them at Barnsley. While I was waiting for our carriage to be brought around, I heard her complaining.”

Warburton raised his brows. “Interesting, but surely your headmistress would have investigated a theft at the school.”

Most likely. Miss Martingale had strict notions of propriety. As, it appeared, did Warburton. “In exchange for not burdening your parents with news of your escapades,” he said, “I will have your promises that you will not be so foolhardy again.”

Of course, they all promised to be more careful. The butler’s smooth face did not betray his feelings, but Emily thought by the quirk of his mouth that he was not entirely sure he believed them. “And as it appears that you lack ideas for appropriate activities for young ladies,” he continued, “allow me to provide you with entertainment more fitting to your stations.”

“Cleaning the attic!” Daphne moaned as they stared into the dark recesses atop the Southwell town house.

“We are not cleaning,” Priscilla said, running a finger along the top of the nearest trunk and shuddering. “Maids clean. We are looking for gowns that might be useful to Emily as she debuts.”

“If I debut,” Emily reminded her. Her mood was nearly as dark as the shadows crowding the eaves, her thoughts as dry as the musty air. What was James Cropper doing? He followed them around and then had the audacity to claim that
she
was watching for
him
! While she had already admitted that his help had been welcome in facing down the beggar, he didn’t have to escort them home and then tell Warburton, in excruciating detail no doubt, about their activities. James Cropper was nothing but an overweening tattletale!

“Are there any gowns up here?” Ariadne asked, poking at something tall, bulky, and draped in a white Holland cloth.

Emily shrugged. “Who knows? Do not mistake this for entertainment. Warburton was doing us no favor.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Daphne said, venturing deeper into the space. “Who knows what we might find.” She raised the lantern Warburton had given them, and boxes, trunks, odd chairs, and mysterious shapes cast grotesque shadows in the golden light.

“The treasures of the ages,” Ariadne intoned, lifting a gilded globe and giving it a spin. Dust flew out in all directions, and she sneezed.

“Better treasure than Acantha ever had,” Priscilla said, bending over the trunk. “All I can say is that having someone steal her pearls is truly justice.” She lifted the leather-strapped lid and made a face. “Old bed linens. Try that one.”

Daphne obligingly hung the lantern on a hook overhead and went to bend over one of the larger trunks.

“But who would be so bold as to take them?” Ariadne mused, lifting another Holland cover and peering underneath. “Everyone we know is scared of her. Except for you, of course, Emily.”

“Emily isn’t afraid of anything,” Daphne said, wrestling open the larger trunk nearest her. Her face brightened. “Oh, look, bonnets!”

Priscilla and Ariadne hurried over and peered down into the depths. Emily came more slowly. It was rather nice that her friends thought her so fearless, but at the moment, fear was beginning to gain a hold on her. What if they could find no fault to lay at Lord Robert’s door, no reason to accuse him to His Grace? Would she actually have to marry the fellow?

The attic felt tight suddenly, the roof too low, the air too stuffy to breathe. Emily rubbed her hands up and down the sleeves of her soft wool gown, but the panic grew worse.

“Perfection,” Priscilla declared. She pulled a bonnet from the tissue that had wrapped it and clapped it on Ariadne’s head. “What do you think, Emily?”

The woven white reed cage wrapped about Ariadne’s round face, dwarfing it. The four stuffed black birds on top stared out with a malevolent gleam in their amber glass eyes, and the twisted crimson fringe dangling at the bottom made Ariadne look as if her hair had caught on fire.

The sight of Ariadne in the fluffy bonnet melted Emily’s panic and she started to giggle. “Very fetching. You should wear it to the ball.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes and pulled it off. “No, thank you. I intend to pick my own gowns and bonnets. I’m sick to death of white muslin, white silk, white anything!”

“Lord Snedley advises it for young ladies in their first Season,” Daphne explained. “As does Mother.”

“Plain white passed out of fashion ages ago,” Priscilla said, lifting her skirts to kneel before the trunk. “Simply tell your mother that Lord Snedley is mistaken.”

Daphne gasped at the heresy, but Ariadne dropped her gaze, sighing. “It’s much easier for me to write my thoughts than to speak them, Priscilla. Except with all of you, of course.”

Priscilla sighed as well. “Then I suppose it’s good that you have all of us to support you. Though I do think you could do with a bit of boldness.” She laid aside the other bonnets and reached for the material they could see stored beneath.

“So long as you aren’t as bold as Lord Robert,” Daphne said, giving her sister’s arm a squeeze, “and announce your engagement without having seen the fellow!”

“Now that’s entirely too bold,” Priscilla agreed. “And
this
is lovely.” She pulled the gown from the trunk and laid it across her lap. The white gauze was threaded with gold, and tiny pearls dotted the bodice like new-fallen snow.

Emily took a step back, fingers going to her locket, as Priscilla rose and held the gown up.

“It looks as if it would fit you, and there’s enough fabric that we could raise the line to be more in fashion.” Priscilla frowned as if she’d noticed Emily’s lack of enthusiasm. “Do not tell me you refuse light colors! This is gorgeous!”

Emily shook her head, throat tight. “It’s my mother’s. She wore it to Helena’s come-out ball. I remember watching the fitting. Mother had two maids to help her because she was already coughing too much.”

Priscilla reddened, then turned and laid the gown back in the trunk. “Well, then, we’ll have none of that. You have entirely too much to be concerned about already.”

Daphne put a hand on Emily’s arm. “I know your mother would have wanted to see you at your come-out too.”

Ariadne nodded, face pinched. Emily’s entire body felt just as tight. She shook her head. “There’s no point in wishing for the moon. His Grace obviously hoped I’d be presented as Lord Robert’s wife, but I considered the ball my entrance into Society.”

“So do I,” Ariadne said. “At the dinner party Mother is hosting, I’ll be nothing more than a pale copy of Daphne, like always.”

“Only
you
see it that way,” Daphne protested. “As if anyone would want to be a copy of me. I only hope Lord Snedley accepts his invitation to the ball that Priscilla sent to his publisher. I want to thank him for helping me become the lady I wish to be.”

Ariadne bit her lip and looked away.

“That’s why we must handle this mess with Lord Robert,” Emily told them. “We all have reasons we need this ball to be a success. My entire future hinges on it, and we are no closer to solving that problem today than we were yesterday.”