The Curious Rogue (17 page)

“Yes, my dear. You do not regret your decision? I fear the sum named was far beyond my powers,” her uncle told her gruffly.

Elizabeth went to him and brushed his cheek with a kiss. “Do not worry, Uncle Henry. Have you not always said I could manage no matter what?” She smiled reassuringly.

“ Mayhaps you would wish me to come with you?”

“No, it will be good for me to have some time alone.”

* * * *

A single portmanteau was brought to Elizabeth’s room. The young abigail, Spense, hovered over it. She neatly folded and packed the few garments that her mistress had laid upon the bed. “Miss, aren’t you going to take even one of your new gowns?” she asked.

“I will have no need of them if I... while I am awaiting my brother’s arrival,” Elizabeth corrected the near slip of tongue. “The day dresses I left there are sufficient for my needs.”

“Could I not go with you, miss?” The abigail stood before her hopefully. “I can cook and would not mind some cleaning chores.”

“No, I would like to have this time alone before... before I wed. It would please me, though, if you would come with me after my marriage.”

“Oh, yes, miss. I would be most happy to.” Spense beamed at her.

“Good. I believe that is all I shall need. Please take the portmanteau and set it in the corridor so it is ready when the comte arrives. I do not wish to cause any delay.” Elizabeth picked up her gloves and bonnet and followed the abigail from the room.

Niles admitted Cavilon just as Elizabeth reached the bottom of the stairs. “Good morn, my lord,” she greeted him briskly.

Meeting her, Cavilon took her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “You look very well this morn,” he told her in a tone that suggested he had not thought to find her so.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Could we not speak privately before you depart?” Cavilon questioned with a wave at her gloves and bonnet.

“We may go to the small salon,” Elizabeth told him and started towards it.

“Tell Sir Henry that my lord Cavilon has arrived,” she instructed Niles as they passed him.

When they reached the salon, she turned to the comte, determination clearly written on her features. “I am not about to go out, my lord. I mean to go with you.”

“That is not necessary. I prefer that you remain here with your family,” he told her, his hands fluttering dismissal of the idea.

“You are going to Folkestone to make arrangements for my brother’s return,” Elizabeth told him evenly. “As I have agreed to your terms, I believe I have a part in those plans.”

You do not trust me to make them?” He cocked an eyebrow, a faint smile coming to his lips.

“Let us say that I would be... comforted by taking some small part in them. Also, I wish to ready my brother’s home for his return. Should he need nursing, as Captain Paraton’s letter strongly suggests, it will be better to have a bed awaiting him rather than force him to travel the additional miles to Ashly,” Elizabeth said forcibly meeting Cavilon’s challenging gaze.

“It would also enable me to prepare for our... wedding, my lord.”

“A most suitable idea.” He sniffed daintily into his kerchief. “But I dislike leaving you alone and I do not plan to remain in Folkestone once the matter is settled and the ship has left. There is much I must see to before we wed.”

“I did not intend to suggest you remain at my side. The details I must see to are not for the bridegroom’s eyes,” she answered, a quiet triumph rising within as she sensed him waver.

“Good morn, my lord,” Sir Henry greeted Cavilon as he joined them. “Is all ready?”

“Yes, I believe so. Elizabeth insists she come with me. Is this with your blessing, sir?”

“She knows what is best for her.”

“Then we are ready to depart.” Cavilon nodded at her. “I will arrange word be sent to you when the ship leaves the harbour and, of course, when it returns.” He turned his attention to Sir Henry.

“My man has suggested it could be a brief week, then again much longer, depending on complications.”

Sir Henry nodded. He embraced his niece, brushing her cheek with a kiss. “All will be right in the end,” he said with a smile.

“I pray only that Morton is still alive and the venture proves successful,” she answered. Returning his kiss, she hurried from the salon.

“All that can be done for your nephew’s safe return shall be,” Cavilon told Sir Henry before following her.

Walking to the comte
’s
coach, Elizabeth was greeted enthusiastically by Barney.

“Your eager guardian,” Cavilon frowned, keeping his distance from the beast. “La,
oui
, a perfect solution. We shall take the animal with us.”

“Oh, no, my lord. Tom would be heartbroken to find him gone when he returns,” Elizabeth protested.

“Sir Henry, have my agent bring the lad on to Folkestone when they arrive here,” the comte told her uncle. “Put the beast on the box,” he ordered the dubious footmen.

Barney decided they were playing a game of tag with him as they sought to get a good hold, and led them on a chase.

Elizabeth’s hopes rose. “You see, my lord, it would be best if he stayed here.”

Having noted the stricken look with which she greeted his idea that the dog accompany them only fortified Cavilon’s intent to take the animal. An inner sense told him Elizabeth was plotting something and that she considered the dog a hindrance. His footmen, however, were proven incapable of cornering the animal.

Elizabeth’s pleasure in the scene proved her downfall. Walking to the coach, the comte opened the door and whistled. Barney halted in his tracks, cocked his head, and then ran forward to clamber into the coach. “The animal has developed high taste under your tutelage,” he told Elizabeth as the footman handed her in.

Suppressing the desire to choke the wretched beast, she sat opposite him and began planning anew.

For the greater part of their journey, conversation was sparse. Each was preoccupied and did not notice the silence. It was only when they reached the outskirts of Folkestone and Barney took to barking at the passing carriages that both became more attentive.

“It was your idea to bring him,” Elizabeth laughed when Cavilon rolled his eyes.

Barney stood on the seat and barked out the coach window.

“See what I endure for your sake,” he returned with a wry grin. “I shall leave you at your home and proceed to the dock,” he added.

“Could I not go with you?” Elizabeth begged. “I am certain I can get Barney to behave.” She leaned forward and took hold of the dog’s collar.

“Sit, boy,” she told him and was relieved to see him do it. “See, he will be the perfect gentleman.”

“My dear, I disdain the adventure already. Why, only the gravity of the situation has compelled me to permit my person to go among such low individuals,” Cavilon drawled. “I certainly cannot allow my future wife to do so.”

“But I would be satisfied to remain in the coach,” she assured him. “It would please me greatly.” Elizabeth reached out and touched his hand while her eyes implored him.

“As you wish,
ma petite,”
Cavilon murmured, his instincts
.
urged refusal, but his heart yielded to her persuasion. “But you must remain inside. The men who shall be about the dock are not accustomed to ladies of your genteel birth. You must remember that soon you shall be a comte
sse
.”

“Yes, my lord,” Elizabeth answered demurely. She lowered her gaze to keep from betraying herself.

Tapping on the roof of the coach, Cavilon ordered the coachman to the docks.

With official trade and travel between the two countries facing each other across the Channel officially forbidden, Elizabeth was surprised at the number of ships and the great activity in the harbour. She scanned the scene eagerly, questioning
the
comte as to which ship would be the one used, but found his answers evasive.

When the coach halted at his command, Cavilon stepped down with a final admonition for Elizabeth to remain inside. His progress along the wharf drew marked attention from the stevedores and sailors. Whoops and catcalls followed his every step.

After waiting several minutes, Elizabeth took a firm hold on Barney’s collar and opened the coach door. The startled footman helped her down.

“But, Miss Jeffries,” he protested, “Comte
de Cavilon did not wish you to—”

“I shall be well guarded,” she said, motioning to the beast at her side, and hurried past the footman.
For once, my lord,
she thought
, your toilet is a great benefit. You are perfectly visible.

 The comte
’s
ornate figure was easily seen but, not daring to get too close lest she be noticed, Elizabeth followed at a distance that kept him barely in sight. When he halted before one of the smaller sloops and spoke with a man who came off it, she tried to note its position carefully for later reference. Satisfied, she turned to go back to the coach, but Barney had a different idea. Having spied a rat, he lunged forward, broke from her hold and disappeared among the stacks of barrels and bales.

“Barney! Barney, come back!” Elizabeth tried to follow him but was blocked by the jumble of cargo. “Lord, now what?” She looked about, trying to spy him, and saw that Cavilon was returning. After taking a few steps towards the coach, Elizabeth halted. She would not desert the animal she had promised to care for.

“We had agreed that you remain in the coach,” the comte greeted her sternly, a scowl on his features.

“Barney escaped from the coach,” Elizabeth answered. “We must find him.”

“That is impossible. The animal knows how to care for himself. When Tom arrives, bring him here and the beast will show himself.” Cavilon took her arm and led her to the coach. When they were seated within it, he spoke. “The matter is completed. He shall leave this eve.”

Elizabeth’s guilty conscience bent her anger toward him. “Will you do nothing to find Barney?”

“He will come to the lad,” Cavilon assured her. “You are fatigued from the journey and will feel better after you have rested.”

“As you say, my lord.” She forced her mind back to the larger problem. “Do you leave for London soon?”

“I fear I must go this eve,” Cavilon answered. “Are you certain you do not wish to return to your uncle?”

“I could not, especially with Barney lost. There is no reason for you to worry.” Elizabeth tried to ease the curtness of her voice. “I am accustomed to being on my own.”

Silence fell once again and remained until they stood alone inside the small parlour of her family home.

“You see, I shall have much to occupy me,” Elizabeth told Cavilon as she motioned at the dust covers on all the furniture.

“Then I shall take my leave. I ask you to trust that all that can be done to free your brother and bring him safely home will be.”

The earnestness in his eyes struck a tender note in Elizabeth. She put aside retort that had come to mind. “I do,” she answered. “I wish you a safe journey.”

“Thank you,
ma petite.”
Cavilon kissed her hand and then reached out to touch her cheek. A quixotic mood came over him. “My kerchief.” He drew his lace square from his jacket and pressed it into her hand. “For you to hold dear till I return.”

Elizabeth accepted it, wondering at his words. “Shall you return before the ship is expected?”

“No, I shall await word of its return. If the attempt to save your brother is not successful, you shall not see me again.” Bowing with an elaborate flourish, he turned and walked away.

Stunned by his words, Elizabeth stared after him. She pushed aside the impulse to run after the comte.

“How curious a man he is,
”
she murmured as the door closed behind him. Shrugging the mood away, she untied her bonnet and removed her gloves. “There is much I have to do,” she said aloud, and walked towards her brother’s chamber.

Once there Elizabeth went to the wardrobe and rummaged through it. After removing a pair of breeches, a shirt, hose, and boots, she hurried to her bedchamber.

Chapter Eighteen

Pressing his seal into the soft wax, Cavilon felt somewhat easier. If he did not return, the letter would explain all to Elizabeth. He motioned Leveque forward.

“I have decided to remain at Folkestone,” he informed the valet. “I wish you to take these letters to Lord Tretain in London.” The comte placed the missive he had just sealed with two others in the slim leather case. “When you have done this, go to my London apartments and ready them for my return.”

“But my lord, how shall you manage here... alone?”

“There are times when one must sacrifice one’s personal comfort.” Cavilon fluttered his lace. “The coach awaits you.” He waved dismissal.

Until he was certain the coach had departed he paced impatiently, anxious to begin. Then certain that Leveque was gone, Cavilon left the inn in a hired landaulet.

Ordering it halted in a busier section of Folkestone, Cavilon motioned for two young lads to come to him. After a brief he gave them several guineas along with an address. Then the comte re-entered the landaulet and gave the driver new orders. When it halted before a small house he had rented on a previous trip, Cavilon paid the driver, dismissed him. He disappeared into the house drawing as little attention as possible.

In less than an hour the lads hurried to Cavilon’s door bearing several packages. Taking them, he expressed his thanks with a generous amount of coin and sent them away.

Back in his room Cavilon changed into the rough garments in the packages. A quick scrubbing removed all trace of powder and rouge. He smeared his face lightly with ash from the fireplace, all hint of affectation now gone.

Transformed into Martin, he then left the house by way of the back door and hurried to procure the few other essentials required for the journey before him.

In the early evening half-light Martin entered a tavern in the wharf district. He greeted several of the men within by name and exchanged local gossip before taking a mug of ale and sitting at a table near the door. An hour went by while he idly visited with those who passed near his table.