Miss Cheney's Charade (10 page)

“I would be honored. Your Highness,” Sir Peter replied. “I hope to have all the things arranged in order before too long.”

Then he introduced Emma, and she thought she might expire with nervousness. Even if he was grossly fat, there was something about the Prince that commanded one’s respect. She dipped a proper curtsy, then peeped up at him.

The Prince looked at Emma, then back to Sir Peter and winked. “Carry on,” he murmured as he strolled along down the avenue.

“I should like to,” Sir Peter said under his breath.

At least Emma would have sworn that was what he said. The words were softly spoken and with intensity. She wondered what he meant.

There was a fanfare, and Lady Amelia cried, “It is time for one of the new acts.”

“Madame Saqui, you mean?” Emma answered while looking about to discover where the tightrope event might be held. People began to push and shove all about them, and she wondered if she would be trampled in the rush.

Sir Peter placed a protective arm about Emma’s shoulders and led her through the throng to a safer place from which to observe the spectacle. “Over here. This is where the Cascade used to be. It has been replaced by this woman. I hope she is worth it.”

“It’s a pity to miss the waterfall, for I understand it was lovely. But from the advertisement, Madame Saqui sounds spectacular.”

And she was.

While absently leaning against Sir Peter, Emma watched the lady appear at the top of a high platform. Dressed in a tinseled and spangled white short dress over white pantaloons with a headdress of white plumes, she descended in a shower of Chinese fire. Lights flashed; wheels, rockets, and stars burst in the air while she ran lightly down the rope, pausing only for a few moments in the center. This was for effect, Emma decided after taking a breath when she realized she had been holding hers.

“Amazing,” Emma cried to Sir Peter over the enthusiastic applause.

“She’s not much to look at, but most daring,” he allowed.

And with another look Emma had to agree, for Madame was most masculine in appearance. Once the clouds of smoke had dissipated, Emma could see that she was no beauty and possessed remarkably muscular legs. Before Sir Peter could conclude that George lacked those sort of muscles, Emma turned and took a few steps away from the scene. Sir Peter dutifully followed along.

After this performance they encountered the rest of the Cheney party. Mrs. Bascomb and Lady Hamley looked somewhat dazed. It seemed they had seen His Royal Highness quite close and had yet to recover.

“This has been quite a gala reopening,” Mrs. Bascomb declared fervently.

Lady Hamley blinked in her usual way, nodding all the while.

“Sir Peter introduced me to the Prince,” Emma informed them with a touch of pride. After all, a girl in her position did not often have this occasion.

“I should enjoy the marionette show, and this new act by Fantoccini sounded appealing,” Lady Amelia exclaimed, nudging Lord Worcester in the side.

“Had we gone with Miss Cheney and Sir Peter, we would have viewed it, minx. You cannot have everything your way.”

Emma had the sudden notion that Lord Worcester had more on his mind than the marionette show.

Lady Amelia took a deep breath, then said nothing.

“Now, I believe we are all together at last,” Sir Peter said with a glance at Lady Amelia. “Why do we not repair to the pavilions?” He addressed the group as a whole, but turned to look at Emma.

Emma gazed back into his eyes and wished again that she could do away with George once and for all.

“Time for our supper,” Sir Peter proclaimed after clearing his throat, leading them back to where the little pavilions sat.

Emma decided that the ham was not sliced quite as thin as she had been told, although her mama whispered that the sum demanded for the food was most shocking.

“Delicious, Sir Peter,” Emma pronounced and wondered how in the world she could ever go back to being George again.

As though he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he said, “I received a note from your brother. He is occupied tomorrow morning. I wonder if he could come in the afternoon? I am eager to have that painting completed.”

“No,” Emma replied bluntly. At his look of surprise she temporized, “George said something about being busy all day.” It was one thing to slip from the house in the morning while her mama was asleep. It was quite another to explain her absence in the afternoon when Mama was about.

“I see.” Sir Peter frowned, but did not explain what it was he understood.

Emma could not help but wonder what he saw. Was she imagining things in her guilt? Did she fancy every word to have a second meaning? Silly girl, she tried to reassure herself. Delusions? She prayed not.

They were about finished with the charming meal when Emma recognized one of the young footmen from Sir Peter’s household. She placed her glass of wine on the table, then touched Sir Peter on the arm to catch his attention.

“Look, is that not one of your servants?”

Sir Peter nodded, then rose from the table. Within minutes he had found the fellow and received his message.

When he returned to his party, he wore a greatly troubled expression.

“What is it?” Emma said with a frown. “Something is wrong.”

“Someone has tried to break into the workroom where the princess mummy is located. He smashed a window. Radley was on guard, so prevented the fellow from entering the house. He fired a shot at him, but missed. At least it frightened him away.”

At his words the group rose to their feet, troubled exclamations erupting.

“Do you fear he will return?” Emma inquired.

“He may,” Sir Peter admitted.

“I say,” Edward said, “that
is
a shock.”

Mrs. Cheney wondered what the world was coming to that a person’s home might be invaded so easily.

Mrs. Bascomb declared that she, for one, wished to leave and see if
her
home remained intact. Lady Hamley blinked and stuttered something about villains.

Somehow the life had gone from the party, and all agreed that perhaps it was time to leave.

Chapter Six

Admirably concealing his impatience, Peter saw to everyone’s comfort in the carriages, then bided his time on the trip across the bridge and into Mayfair. When he caught Emma watching him, he realized he was drumming his fingers on his thigh, evidence of his worried state.

“Please, if you might put me down at our home, I should be grateful,” Lady Amelia said into the silence of the carriage. “I feel certain you wish to discuss the attempted robbery, and I most likely would just be in the way.”

“That’s not true,” Peter began courteously.

“Why, Lady Amelia,” Lord Worcester drawled, “you show great sensitivity. I almost believe there is hope for you yet.”

“Edward, if you do not cease bedeviling me, you will not live to know if you are right or no.” Lady Amelia glared at him with an intensity that Peter could almost feel.

Whatever feelings had occurred between those two in the few moments at the gardens had vanished. They were back at daggers-drawn once again.

Peter gave the altered instructions to the groom, then settled back again. It was a relief to have the carriage halt before Lady Amelia’s home, for the silence was becoming far too intense.

Lord Worcester correctly escorted Lady Amelia to her front door, then declined whatever she suggested. In the light from a flambeau they could see him shake his head.

“It would seem that your friend does not care overmuch for mine,” Miss Cheney said with resignation.

“Not to worry. One of these days they may wake up to realize they are ideal for one another,” Peter said with more optimism than he really felt.
That
situation would only occur if they didn’t kill each other first.

Miss Cheney shook her head in disagreement. Peter could see her amused smile from where he sat.

It wasn’t long before they arrived before the Cheney home. Lord Worcester paused outside.

“I do not know if I can be of assistance to you, but you have only to ask, old chap.” He gave Peter a somewhat uncertain look, not taking one step toward the front door.

“Come in, come in,” Peter said with a glance at Miss Cheney. He hoped he concealed his impatience, but suspected she knew. “Edward, keep the tabbies at bay while I have a brief chat with Miss Cheney.”

“That I can do easily enough.” Edward gave his good friend a cheerful smile and joined them.

The three entered the house, and Lord Worcester went up to the drawing room immediately. Emma stood at the bottom of the stairs awaiting whatever Peter had to say to her.

Peter felt devilishly absurd. He wondered if she suspected that he knew her dual identity. He had taken great pains to convince her otherwise. He had no trouble with his eyesight, but hoped she would tumble for his ruse. Now he needed her to work with him. With her keen vision and knowledge of what he was attempting, she would be of immeasurable assistance to him. Her artistic ability was precisely what was required at the moment.

“I truly need George’s help,” he said at last. “Could you possibly persuade him to come to my house in the morning? Perhaps he could postpone whatever he needed to do? Tell him that it is deuced important.”

“Such language. Sir Peter,” Emma scolded gently with a twinkle in her fine gray eyes. If she had not been confident that Sir Peter had not caught on to her disguise, she would have been suspicious of the sparkle that lurked in the depths of his green gaze.

“But will you try?”

“You are most persuasive. I will ask him,” she said at last, wondering what on earth George could do that would help ... and that
she
might perform!

“He
must
agree. Two heads are better than one, they say, and I cannot trust just anyone with my plans.” He shifted from one foot to the other, looking tense and uneasy.

Her curiosity piqued at this snippet of information, Emma added, “I feel certain that George will be there if I tell him that you rely on his assistance.”

“Well, that puts me at some ease, then. I have no doubt that you can be most persuasive when you choose.”

He smiled down into her eyes, and Emma wondered whatever had come over her. Her knees felt distinctly wobbly, and her heart was fluttering like a wild bird caught in a net. When he casually picked up her hand to tuck it next to his firm, muscular body, she wondered if she would be able to walk up the stairs without tripping.

Catching her skirt up slightly in her free hand, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring into his eyes. She bestowed an uncertain smile on him, becoming lost in those green eyes for a moment before her common sense returned.

“Shall we join the others?” he gently queried.

“Oh! Of course, how silly of me.” Emma wrenched her gaze from his and resolutely trod each step with care as they slowly made their way up to the drawing room.

She stood on the threshold with Sir Peter, exceedingly conscious that every eye in the room had turned in their direction.

“What a perfectly dreadful ending to a lovely evening,” Mrs. Bascomb declared.

“Indeed, it was.” Emma sighed with relief that no one intended to make some witty remark about her and Sir Peter. “I enjoyed the gardens enormously. Then to learn that some robber had attempted to enter Sir Peter’s home, most likely with the intent of stealing something from his famous Egyptian collection, well...” She turned an indignant gaze to her father, who had always solved her problems. “Papa, what do you think?”

“Indeed, sir. I should appreciate your counsel,” Sir Peter said with gracious courtesy.

‘This city becomes more lawless by the day,” Mr. Cheney complained, strolling over to stand by the fireplace. “Thieves enter any home they please with impunity. It seems they neither fear the gallows nor transportation. It is so now that a man takes his life in his hands if he so much as steps from his house to take a walk once evening has come. I thought when the Mohawks were past, we might have it better. It would seem not. I remember when those nasty bullies roamed the streets at night.”

“What is to be done. Papa?” Emma demanded with the faith of a loving daughter.

“As to that. Sir Peter had best hire a guard. You said your butler is armed. Excuse me, young man, but is he of an age to do battle? I have dealt with criminals in my day. They can be fiendishly powerful when motivated.” Mr. Cheney directed a steely gaze at Sir Peter.

“I intend to seek professional assistance. Perhaps a burly fighter at night with a Bow Street man by day would do the thing.” Sir Peter looked about the room, adding, “I would hope my servants have remained silent about this matter. I presume that none of you will discuss it with others. It will be a trust between us.”

Lady Hamley and Mrs. Bascomb appeared much struck with the magnitude of his faith in them, and they eagerly nodded their compliance with suppression of gossip. When he turned to Mrs. Cheney, she also nodded. He noted her glance at Emma, but he left that young woman until last.

“Sir, I appreciate your advice.” Then he turned back to the ladies. “I trust that this little business has not totally ruined your evening?”

The ladies burst forth in raptures over the many treats they had experienced while at Vauxhall. Lady Hamley blinked while assuring Sir Peter it was a treat to be always remembered with pleasure. At her side Mrs. Bascomb nodded her agreement.

Emma caught the look exchanged between Sir Peter and Lord Worcester and wondered even more what it was that George might help Sir Peter with that Edward, Lord Worcester couldn’t do just as well.

The younger gentlemen excused themselves shortly following this. It was clear Sir Peter was anxious to see for himself what the damage might be. She walked with the guests to the bottom of the stairs.

“You will not forget to speak with George first thing in the morning?” Sir Peter said so softly that she doubted if Lord Worcester could hear the words while listening to Oldham’s offer to fetch a hackney.

“I promise that unless he has something desperately pressing, he will be there.” Emma avoided meeting his eyes when she said this, for she wasn’t certain but that she might betray her masquerade.