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A Kiss Away From Scandal
Christine Merrill
If the truth comes out…There will be scandal!Part of Those Scandalous Stricklands: Hope Strickland must find the lost items of her family’s estate. Mysterious Gregory Drake, expert at fixing the problems of the aristocracy, is hired to help. As they embark on the search Hope finds herself drawn to the handsome stranger. He may not be a gentleman but Hope’s tempted to put aside her marriage prospects for a forbidden night – in Gregory’s bed!


If the truth comes out...
...there will be scandal!
In this Those Scandalous Stricklands story, Hope Strickland must find the lost items of her family’s estate. Mysterious Gregory Drake, expert at fixing the problems of the aristocracy, is hired to help. As they embark on the search, Hope finds herself drawn to the handsome stranger. He may not be a gentleman, but Hope’s tempted to put aside her marriage prospects for a forbidden night—in Gregory’s bed!
Those Scandalous Stricklands miniseries
Book 1—A Kiss Away From Scandal
Look out for the next book, coming soon!
“Readers will enjoy the strong characters, swift pace, lively wit and the wickedly fun escapades that stubborn lovers can get into.”
—RT Book Reviews on “Her Christmas Temptation” in Regency Christmas Wishes
“Merrill pens another winner.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Wedding Game
CHRISTINE MERRILL lives on a farm in Wisconsin, USA, with her husband, two sons and too many pets—all of whom would like her to get off the computer so they can check their email. She has worked by turns in theatre costuming and as a librarian. Writing historical romance combines her love of good stories and fancy dress with her ability to stare out of the window and make stuff up.
Also by Christine Merrill (#u4070f45f-a864-5b81-a75e-1689b2bcb13c)
The Wedding Game
A Convenient Bride for the Soldier
Regency Christmas Wishes
The Sinner and the Saint miniseries
The Greatest of Sins
The Fall of a Saint
The de Bryun Sisters miniseries
The Truth About Lady Felkirk
A Ring from a Marquess
Those Scandalous Stricklands miniseries
A Kiss Away from Scandal
And look out for the next book
Coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
A Kiss Away from Scandal
Christine Merrill


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07374-5
A KISS AWAY FROM SCANDAL
© 2018 Christine Merrill
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Clara Bloczynski: there can be only one.
Contents
Cover (#u9b01dcc4-e3cf-50e0-bc38-84090bea415b)
Back Cover Text (#ucd385715-df68-5039-9ec0-a93aca44e9b2)
About the Author (#u56cd3db8-7b29-5386-bda6-d50578c8f4d8)
Booklist (#uee306354-c5cb-580a-8add-53b63644cb0b)
Title Page (#ucedefffe-5a5f-5165-856e-64625fd274ec)
Copyright (#u5d072dbd-9056-5752-8925-4542e5e61bae)
Dedication (#ud11ddd98-547e-5610-b9a4-1eed7c913389)
Chapter One (#u6740ebdb-c56a-54cc-a50f-d0068e25b5fd)
Chapter Two (#u8b05c692-aa57-5df3-8c22-201940415d88)
Chapter Three (#uba439a1c-328e-5d41-8c58-29bb5a2d8497)
Chapter Four (#u165f10b4-b11d-581a-9505-b7af13e82158)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u4070f45f-a864-5b81-a75e-1689b2bcb13c)
‘I have a problem.’
In Gregory Drake’s experience, most conversations began with exactly those words. But that was to be expected, given the unusual nature of his profession.
Gregory fixed things.
Not in the usual sense. Watchmakers fixed watches. Tinkers mended kettles. But Gregory was not a tradesman as much as a student of human nature. He fixed lives. When members of the upper classes were confronted with a situation that was difficult, embarrassing, or simply tedious, they came to him.
He made their problems go away. Quickly, quietly and without another word.
It was why he was welcome in the reading rooms at Boodle’s and White’s and most of the other clubs in London. He could claim membership in none of them. But he was so often found in attendance at them, sharing hushed conversations with important people, that no one dared to ask the reason for his presence. Though society might see him as an underling, even its most august members kept a respectful distance from him, not wanting to embarrass their friends. More importantly, they did not want to annoy the fellow who could be counted on to rescue them when trouble arose.
Today, Gregory stretched his legs towards the fireplace to warm the January chill from his bones. Then he looked expectantly to the man in the opposite chair. ‘Does your problem involve a woman?’ Until his recent marriage, James Leggett had been a well-known rake who courted scandal almost as actively as he chased the females that embroiled him in it.
At this, Leggett laughed. ‘It involves several women. But none in the way you probably expect, given my reputation.’
‘If not an affaire de coeur, then what could it be?’
‘It concerns my wife’s family,’ Leggett said, with a sigh. ‘Lovely ladies, all. But there are far too many of them for one man to handle.’
‘That is why you are speaking to me,’ Gregory said, with an understanding nod.
‘The branches of the Strickland family tree are so full of women that it is all but dead. My darling Faith has two sisters and a grandmother.’
‘The Dowager Countess of Comstock,’ Gregory supplied, to prove he was well aware of the circumstances. ‘The Earl had no brothers and all three of his sons are dead. But, I understand the Crown has found an heir to the earldom. There is a cousin of some sort, several times removed and living in America.’
Leggett nodded. ‘This leaves the ladies in a somewhat precarious position.’
In a just society, it would not. In Gregory’s opinion, men should be required by law to make provision for the future of female relatives and property should be divided equitably amongst all siblings, regardless of sex. But no one gave a damn for the opinion of a fellow without inherited wealth, nor did it make sense to argue reform with a man who had benefitted from the current system. Instead, he described the situation at hand. ‘The last Earl left them a pittance and the ladies fear that the new one will take even that away from them.’
‘It is not as if they will starve in the streets,’ Leggett said quickly. ‘I will provide for them, if no one else shall. But they are worried. The heir has called for an audit of the entail to be completed before he arrives.’
Suddenly everything became clear. ‘I take it there might be some problems in the accounting?’
‘The Countess is a delightful woman,’ Leggett said with a smile. ‘Charming and sweet-tempered, but a trifle foolish. She could not resist keeping up the appearance of wealth where it no longer existed.’
‘She has been selling off the family jewels,’ Gregory said. Women of titled men sometimes grew so used to the baubles they wore that they thought of them as personal property and not things meant by law to be passed down the generations, from one peer to the next.
‘Nothing as dire as that. It seems she’s pillaged furniture, paintings and assorted bric-a-brac.’ Leggett held his hands wide to indicate the variety in the theft. ‘It is all quite random. The only record of the sales exists in her faulty memory.’
‘You need someone to search the Lombard merchants for the missing items.’
‘With a dray and draught horses if necessary. God knows how much is missing. Buy it all back at my expense,’ Leggett said, closing his eyes in resignation. ‘And finish before the arrival of the new Comstock. There are rumours of rough seas between here and Philadelphia, but weather will not forestall discovery once his man of business arrives. With two sisters yet to be married, my wife is terrified that any scandal will spoil their reputation.’
‘I have contacts in the industry that might help me with retrieval,’ Gregory assured him. ‘You are not the first to come to me with such a problem. Once I am on the case, it will be sorted in no time.’
‘But in the past, you did not have to contend with the Strickland sisters.’ Leggett gave him a rueful grimace.
Gregory countered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘If they are named for the three theological virtues, how much trouble can they be?’
‘How much trouble? As much as they can manage, I suspect.’ There was something in the quirk of his lips that was not quite a smile. It spoke of bitter experience. Then, his face gentled. ‘My Faith is a continual delight, of course. But she has a will of iron.’
‘The shield and bulwark of the family?’
‘Rather,’ Leggett replied. ‘She is the eldest and used to running things. I am removing her from the equation, for my pleasure and her piece of mind. A month in Italy will leave you free to do the work she would take on herself, if I allowed her to.’
‘That is probably for the best,’ Gregory said cautiously. ‘And the other two?’
‘Charity is the youngest,’ Leggett said.
‘A sweet child, I am sure.’
‘She is no child. She is fully nineteen and cold comfort, at best.’ Leggett glanced about him to be sure no one heard his candid assessment. ‘A whey-faced girl with a mind as sharp as a razor and a tongue to match. She will be a great help, if you can persuade her to put down her books and leave the library. But she has the brain of a chess master and, if she decides to work against you, your battle is lost before it has begun.’
Gregory nodded, already thinking of ways to win the favour of Charity. ‘And the third?’
‘The enfant perdu, in the military sense, of course.’
‘A lost child?’ Gregory waited in silence for an explanation as Leggett sipped his drink.
‘Are you familiar with the military concept of a forlorn hope? Those soldiers willing to risk certain death and lead a charge, straight into the enemy cannons?’
‘They seek great reward.’
‘Weighed against almost certain failure,’ Leggett confirmed. ‘That describes Hope Strickland. She is a girl with a plan. A rather stupid plan, in my opinion. But it is hers and she cannot be dissuaded.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘She means to wed the new Earl as soon as the fellow’s shoes touch British soil. She thinks his marrying into the family will soften the blow of learning that the Dowager has been pinching his property.’
‘Such a connection would be expedient,’ Gregory said.
‘It would save us the trouble of finding a husband for Charity,’ Leggett agreed. ‘She has spurned Faith’s offer to share our home and refuses to put herself in the way of gentlemen who might court her. But if Hope snags the Earl, Charity could remain in the Comstock Manor library as though nothing had changed.’
It sounded almost like he was describing a piece of furniture that was valuable, but too heavy to move.
‘All the same,’ Leggett continued, ‘a man should have some say in choosing his own wife.’
‘And you know nothing about him,’ Gregory added. ‘He might already be married.’
Leggett nodded. ‘Or he might be too young to marry. Or old and without the vigour for it. Also, he will have to be even-tempered enough to forgive the pilfering and inclined to care more for family than the money that this new title is bringing him.’
‘He might not be the sort of man a gently bred girl should marry at all,’ Gregory said.
‘He could be a drooling idiot, for all we know: a villain, a cad, a deviant or a toss pot. I cannot let Hope marry into misery just to maintain the status quo for her little sister.’ Now, Leggett had the worried look that so many of Gregory’s clients got when faced with an insolvable problem.
‘Women get ideas,’ Gregory said in his most reassuring tone. ‘Especially when they are thinking of the family and not themselves.’
‘My wife was guilty of similar foolishness. When I discovered her, she was about to marry for money over love.’ Leggett smiled. ‘I managed to set that to rights. But I cannot marry all of them to save them from themselves.’ Then he looked at Gregory in a way that hinted that the finding of lost objects would not be the hardest part of his job.
‘You do not think that I...’ Gregory paused. ‘You do not expect me to find them husbands.’ He prided himself on his ability to rise to a challenge, but matchmaking was not within his purview.
‘Lord, no. We are all agreed that Charity is a lost cause. But Hope is more than pretty enough and will have no trouble finding a husband if she can be persuaded to look for one. I do not want the Season to slip away, or offers to be refused, as she waits like a princess in a tower for a rescue that may never come.’
‘You wish me to make enquiries into the heir?’
‘Any information would be helpful,’ Leggett said. ‘Should you find that there is a wife and ten little Stricklands in America, make Hope aware of them so she will abandon her scheme.’
‘And if I do not?’
‘I would not object to your taking a certain creative licence with the truth,’ Leggett said, as optimistic in his own way as Miss Strickland was in hers.
‘You wish me to lie to her?’ Gregory put it plainly. Though he was not a gentleman by birth, he held his honour as dear, often more dearly than the men who hired him did. If he was to break his word with lies, he had no intention of hiding those untruths under elegant euphemisms like creative licence.
Leggett sighed. ‘I merely want her to set her sights on the men right in front of her. Do what is necessary to persuade her. I will leave the details of it to you.’
‘Thank you.’ That left him plenty of room to manoeuvre before resorting to falsehood.
‘And you will have ample opportunity to come up with something, since you will be forced to work directly with her. It is Miss Hope Strickland who holds the list of items you must retrieve.’ Now Leggett was smiling in satisfaction as if he had made the matter easier and not more complicated.
Gregory began cautiously, not wanting to contradict the man trying to hire him. ‘In my experience, the less the family is involved with these matters, the quicker they are handled.’
‘I did not claim it would be easy,’ Leggett reminded him. And there was that smug smile again, as if it gave him pleasure to see another man suffer what he had endured at the delicate hands of the Strickland sisters and their dotty grandmother. ‘I will give you double your usual fee, since, if I am honest, I have brought you two problems, not one.’
More money on the table before he’d even opened his mouth to ask for it. Gregory already knew he could find the missing heirlooms. How hard could it be to prevent a marriage that was unlikely to occur, even without his intervention?
He looked at Leggett’s smile and hesitated a moment longer.
‘Triple, then. I am eager to depart for the Continent and wish to be sure that the matter will be settled to my satisfaction.’
The offer was too good to refuse, even if he’d wanted to. ‘Consider it done.’
‘Thank you. Miss Hope Strickland, Miss Charity and the Dowager are in London for the Season at the Comstock town house in Harley Street. I will tell them to expect your visit.’
‘Very good.’ There was likely to be nothing good about it. Other than the pay, of course. That was enough to reinforce the smile Gregory gave his new employer.
‘And I trust this matter will stay between us?’ Leggett said, in the slightly embarrassed tone of someone not used to admitting he had difficulties, much less asking for help with them.
‘I shall be the soul of discretion,’ Gregory replied. When one made one’s living mopping up after the gentry, keeping secrets was part of the job description.
Chapter Two (#u4070f45f-a864-5b81-a75e-1689b2bcb13c)
‘Good evening, my lord.’ Hope Strickland stood in front of a mirror in the hall of the Comstock town house, examining her smile for traces of insincerity before deciding that it was as near to perfect as she could manage.
Then, she curtsied, analysing the results. She was not inexperienced with the niceties due a peer, but that did not mean she should not practise. First impressions were the most important ones. There could be no flaw in hers.
Not that it was likely to matter. The odds of success were almost nil. But if there was any chance at all to impress the next Earl of Comstock, she meant to try.
Now that Faith had married, Hope was left as oldest. It was her job to carry on as best she could and take care of the family that remained. It was clear, from their scattershot behaviour, that Charity and Grandmama needed all the help they could get.
She dipped again. The bend in her knees was not quite deep enough and her eyes could not seem to hold the fine line between deference and flirtation.
‘Are you still at that?’ Charity was standing in the doorway, arms folded in disapproval.
‘It pays to be prepared,’ Hope replied, straightening the curl on the left side of her face that could never seem to follow its mates into a proper coiffure.
‘Prepared to bow and scrape for the stranger coming to take our house out from under us?’ Charity said.
Hope bit back the urge to announce that it was her sister who needed to mind her manners. Instead, she said, ‘It is his house. We are but guests in it.’
‘Family, you mean,’ Charity responded.
‘It would be nice to think so.’ Hope turned away from the mirror to face Charity. ‘I prefer to take a more realistic view of the situation. Though we share a surname, he has never met us before. He will not think of us as family unless we work hard to make him do so. When he arrives, we should greet him with warm welcomes and friendly smiles.’
‘You don’t wish to befriend him. You want to marry him. What are your plans if that does not happen? If you mean to be prepared, it should be against all eventualities.’ Charity was far too logical for her own good. But that was no surprise. It had always been her nature to find the weakness in any plan and jab mercilessly at it until her opponent relented.
‘If the Earl is not impressed with me, we shall have to make decent matches while we are in town. Then we will set up our own households and not concern ourselves with him or his property.’ She put a subtle emphasis on the word we, hoping that her sister would acknowledge the seriousness of the situation and do her share to fix it. Hope had no real fear of failure for herself. But they had always known that things would not be as easy for Charity. And as she usually did, Charity was making matters worse with her refusal to even look for a husband.
‘We must also thank Mr Leggett for his generosity in making a Season possible,’ Hope added. She touched her skirt to remind her sister of the elegant wardrobes they’d purchased since coming to town. Before their sister had married, it had felt as if they’d been trimming, re-trimming and altering the same tired gowns for ages. But now, everything in their cupboards was fresh and new.
But you could not tell it from looking at Charity, who was wearing a gown that was two years old and could best be described as serviceable. It had done well enough for hiding in the manor library, but it was totally wrong for London. Her sister had noticed her silent criticism and responded, ‘There will be time for me to play dress up later. Right now, I have other plans.’
Hope gave her a firm but encouraging smile. ‘Of course you do. But it will be rather hard to carry them out while rusticating in the country.’
‘For you, perhaps. I was doing quite well right where I was. The sooner you allow me to return to Berkshire the easier it will be on all of us.’ While Hope had jumped at the chance to come to town, Charity had done nothing but complain since the moment they’d arrived.
‘You speak of my need for alternate plans,’ Hope said, smiling to hide her frustration. ‘Do you have any of your own? When the Earl arrives, you cannot simply dig in your heels and refuse to vacate the manor. If he asks you to go, you will have to leave.’
Charity smiled. ‘I do not need a second plan. The first one is near to fruition and I will be long gone before he ever sets foot in the house. If you would only allow me to return to the country...’
And there it was, again. The solution her little sister was continually hinting at, but refused to reveal. It did not sound as though she meant to reason with the new owner—as if there was a man on the planet who wished to be reasoned with by a girl just out of the schoolroom. But if not that, then what could it be? ‘This plan of yours...’ Hope hinted. ‘I assume it does not include marriage? Because to achieve that, you might consider accepting some of the invitations you receive.’
Then, a worrisome thought struck her. ‘Promise me you do not mean to dishonour yourself. We are not as desperate for money as all that.’
Charity laughed harshly. ‘My dear sister, you may lie to yourself about your own future, but please do not lie about mine. She stepped forward and took Hope by the shoulders, turning her so they stood reflected, side by side in the mirror. ‘No man will have me for a mistress. I am not pretty enough. I fully intend to marry, when the time is right. But it will take more than a new gown and a perfect curtsy for me to catch a husband. I will need a dowry.’ She reached up and adjusted her spectacles, as if assessing her own appearance. ‘A substantial one, I should think. It will take more money than average to compensate for both appearance and manner.’
‘Do not say that about yourself,’ Hope said hurriedly. But it was true. It was one thing to be a plain girl and quite another to be an intelligent one who could not manage to keep her opinions to herself. ‘I am sure, once the Earl comes...’
‘You will marry him, and he will look kindly on your beloved but eccentric, spinster sister?’ Charity patted her shoulder. ‘You are normally a very sensible girl, Hope. That is why it pains me to see you delude yourself.’
‘I just want to see you happy,’ Hope said. It was not as much a want as a responsibility. Now that Faith was gone, someone had to look out for the family and neither Charity nor Grandmama had the sense to take charge.
‘I am happy,’ Charity said softly. ‘It may surprise you to hear it, but it is true. Do not concern yourself with my future. Think of your own. I hear Grandmother has got vouchers for Almack’s. You must go and dance every dance, even without the presence of the Earl.’
‘Of course,’ Hope said, then gave her sister a pointed look. ‘And you will come with me.’
‘Perhaps,’ Charity agreed, oblivious to the order she had been given. Then she kissed Hope on the cheek and turned to go up the stairs to her room. ‘If I am not busy with something more important.’
Hope sighed. It was better than a flat refusal. Knowing Charity, by Wednesday there would be some excuse that would prevent her from coming out with them. But it did not matter. Just as her sister had suggested, Hope would go and dance until her feet ached. She would be as charming as she possibly could and see to it that every gentleman in London had met and been dazzled by Miss Strickland.
There was no point in being a wallflower. The new Earl of Comstock could have his pick of any girl in England. He would not look twice at a girl who was not courted by others.
She turned back to the mirror, and flashed a smile that would blind a duke at twenty paces. Then, the curtsy. ‘Good evening, my lord.’ This time, she dipped deeper and felt an embarrassing tremble in her front knee. She was nearly one and twenty, but hardly infirm. She could do better. She must do better.
She tried again. ‘Good evening, my lord.’
‘I should think good morning would be more appropriate. It is not yet eleven.’
She stumbled at the sound of a voice behind her and raised her eyes to see the reflection of the stranger who had entered the room as she practised.
It was he.
It had to be. Who else but the Earl of Comstock would be wandering around the house unintroduced, as if he owned it? In a sense, he did.
‘And I have no title.’
‘As of yet,’ she said. There was no longer a need to practise her smile. When she looked at him, it came naturally. Who would not be happy in the presence of such a handsome man? Though she had never been one to dote on the male form, his was perfectly proportioned, neither too tall nor too short, with slim hips and broad shoulders on which rested the head of a Roman God. His blond hair was cut à la Brutus, curling faintly at the fringe that framed a noble brow, unmarked by signs of worry. His grey eyes were intelligent, his smile sympathetic.
Praise God, she had been delivered just the man she’d prayed would come: young, handsome and, judging by the twinkle that shone in those beautiful eyes as he looked at her, single. But not for long, if she had her way.
He tilted his head. ‘You are correct. I have no title, as of yet. Nor am I likely to get one. But they are sometimes awarded to men whose service merits them and I am not yet thirty. With time and effort, anything is possible, Miss Strickland.’
She steadied herself from the shock and turned to face him with as much grace as possible, struggling to maintain the expression she’d been practising in the mirror. ‘Then you are not my cousin from America?’
‘The future Earl of Comstock?’ His smile softened. ‘Unfortunately, no.’ He bowed from the waist. ‘Gregory Drake, at your service, Miss Strickland. I was told you’d be expecting me.’
She could feel her smile faltering and struggled against the impolite response, who?
More importantly, how? She glanced to the front door which had not opened to admit anyone, much less this interloper. Then, she made an effort to compose herself. ‘I fear you were incorrectly informed. I was not told there would be a guest this morning. You have caught me unprepared.’
He followed her eyes, read the meaning and gave a deferential dip of his head. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Strickland. I was retained by your brother-in-law to help with certain difficulties your family is experiencing. Since the matter is one that requires discretion, I entered through the rear to avoid calling attention.’
‘The tradesman’s entrance.’ Of course he had. If Mr Leggett had hired him, why should he not begin there?
He nodded, solemnly.
A torrent of unladylike words filled her mind about trumped-up nobodies with delusions of a grand future who had the gall to tease her with them. And worse yet, who had the nerve to look like the answer to a maiden’s prayers. He had no right to be so handsome, yet so inappropriate.
Then, the rant changed to encompass her sister’s husband, who had hired this...this...person. She ended with a scold for Grandmama, who probably knew the whole story and had neglected to tell her any of it, just as she had with the difficulties surrounding an audit. The Dowager probably thought it amusing to throw the two of them together so Hope might make a fool of herself.
When she was sure that her actual words would leave her mouth with a minimum of bile, she said, ‘So Mr Leggett has sent you to save us from ourselves.’
Her control was not perfect. She still sounded ungrateful, but she had a right to be angry. She had been behaving like an idiot when he’d entered. It likely confirmed what he already thought of the family: that they were a houseful of silly women, incapable of caring for themselves.
Of course, that was what she often thought, when faced with the latest exploit of her sister or her grandmother. She did not deny that they had problems, but how could a stranger possibly understand them the way she did?
She forced another smile. It was not the warm one she was saving for the Earl. The one she gave to Mr Drake was sufficient for solicitors and shopkeepers. ‘How much has Mr Leggett told you about our difficulty?’
‘Everything, I suspect. You seek the return of certain items before an impending inventory.’ If he thought her rude, he did not show it. His manner reflected hers. He was professionally pleasant, but revealed no trace of his true thoughts or feelings.
So, he suspected he knew everything. That proved how little he actually knew. Even Mr Leggett did not know the worst of it for Hope had not wished to ruin Faith’s honeymoon with what she had recently discovered. But Mr Drake should at least understand that none of it was Hope’s fault. To prove her lack of culpability, she said aloud the words that had been echoing in her mind since she had learned the extent of their troubles. ‘Grandmama should not have sold things that did not belong to her. Nor should she have kept our financial difficulties a secret for so long.’
He offered another sympathetic nod. ‘But what could you have done, had you known?’
Very little. Faith had been the one in charge of the family budget and her decisions had seemed sensible enough. Economies had been taken in diet and dress. Rooms had been shut and staff had been released. How much less would they have had without Grandmama’s judicious thefts refilling the accounts?
The fact that there had been no other solution did not make her feel any better, now that reckoning had arrived. ‘The past does not matter. It is the future that I am worried about. There will be a scandal, if the truth comes out.’
‘I am here to see that it never does,’ he said. ‘I have helped more than a few families with similar problems. Taking desperate measures when there is a shortage of funds is not at all unusual.’
‘I assume Mr Leggett means to buy back the lost items?’ It was a generous plan from a man who had no idea the depth of the problem.
‘He said you had a list.’
‘After a fashion,’ she said, giving nothing away. By the look on Mr Drake’s face, he expected her to turn over the details of her family’s darkest secrets without as much as a by your leave. She had no reason to trust this stranger who appeared out of nowhere with far too much information and no introduction, verbal or written. For all she knew, he was an agent of the new Earl and they were already discovered.
He gave another encouraging smile. ‘If you share it with me, then I will go about my business and leave you to yours. The matter will be settled without another thought from you.’
She could not help a derisive snort. It would serve him right if she told him the truth and then sent him on his way with no other help. ‘Very well, then.’ She turned from him and walked down the hall to the morning room. He could follow or not. It did not really matter.
She heard the measured steps of his boots follow down the corridor and into the room. When she withdrew the crumpled paper from the little writing desk in the corner, she turned to find him still a respectful few steps behind her. She handed him the list. ‘There you go. Settle our troubles, if you still think you can.’
She watched his handsome brow furrow as he read down the column. ‘Blue painting. Candlesticks. Third Earl’s inkwell.’ He glanced up at her, clearly surprised. ‘That is all the detail you have? Nothing to tell me if the candlesticks were gold or silver?’ The furrows grew even deeper. ‘And I cannot make out this line at all.’
‘Neither can I,’ she said, trying to contain the malicious glee as he was brought into her suffering. ‘My grandmother is a woman of many words, but we can seldom get the ones we need out of her. It took some effort to get this much detail, for she kept no records of the things she sold and the places she took them. And I am quite certain there are items missing from this account.’ Only one of them had any significance. But it was not a story she wished to tell, just yet. ‘I will question her further, but I do not know how much more she will admit.’
‘It is fortunate that dealers keep better records than their clients,’ he said. ‘It might take some persuading for them to give the information up. There are laws against dealing in entailed merchandise.’
‘I am well aware of the fact.’ Her grandmother was as guilty or more so than the people she’d bartered with. They might be receivers of stolen goods, but she was the actual thief.
‘But if they do not remember her?’ The look on his face changed to resignation. ‘Would you recognise these items, if you saw them again?’
‘Most of them, I think,’ she said. ‘I have lived in the house since I was ten. They should at least be familiar, should I find them in a shop window.’
He sighed. ‘Then it would be best if you come with me, to retrieve them.’
‘You are suggesting that I accompany a strange man to unseemly parts of London to retrieve stolen goods.’
‘I am not a stranger, as such,’ he reminded her. His smile returned, though it was somewhat the worse for wear. ‘I was sent by your brother-in-law to help you.’
‘I have only your word for that,’ she replied.
‘How else would I know of your problems, if not for him?’
‘You might have guessed them.’ More likely, it was just as he said. He had been sent to help. But for some reason, his good looks and perfect manners annoyed her. It gave her a dark and unladylike pleasure to see him struggle.
His composure slipped for only a moment. Then he dug a hand into his coat pocket and came out with a paper. He held it out to her. ‘If it is not as I say, how do you suppose I came by this?’
It was a letter of credit, signed by Mr Leggett, promising to honour any and all bills without question. The sight of it left her light-headed. He could not know what he was promising. Since Faith and her husband had already left for their honeymoon, it was too late to tell him.
He mistook the reason for her silence and said, ‘If it helps, think of me as a servant who will be accompanying you as you set matters right. I will be there to assure your safety, handle the transactions and carry the packages.’
It did not help at all. The idea of him walking a pace behind her like some liveried footman was an abomination. He was too well spoken for a servant and not stern enough for a schoolmaster. If she stretched her imagination to the breaking point, she could see him as a solicitor, but there was a sparkle in his eye better suited to a criminal than a man of law. And no vicar would have that knowing smile.
He was simply too handsome to be going about town with. Should she be seen with him there would be gossip that had nothing to do with the Stricklands’ financial troubles. And while it was quite all right for the new Earl to see her as sought after, she could not have him thinking that she was being actively courted by Gregory Drake.
‘If you fear for your reputation, remember that it will be equally damaged if news of the missing items becomes public.’
‘Unless the new Earl can be persuaded to compassionate silence,’ she said, wishing she could go back to her practising and pretend this meeting had never occurred.
Mr Drake tucked his letter back into his coat, along with her incomplete list. ‘What do you know of your grandfather’s heir, thus far?’
It was an annoying question, since the answer was obvious. They’d had no contact with the man, other than the request for an audit of the entail to be completed before his arrival, and that had come through a solicitor. It did not bode well. But she put on a false smile to appease her interrogator. ‘I know that he is family and familial bonds are strong. I am sure Mr Strickland will understand the difficulties faced by women who are forced to fend for themselves.’
‘We must hope so, for I doubt he has any special affection for this country,’ Mr Drake said, pulling another piece of paper from his opposite pocket. ‘Mr Leggett has also hired me to find what I could about the gentleman you are expecting.’ He scanned his notes. ‘It appears that his grandfather fought bravely in their revolution against this country. More recently, Mr Strickland’s elder brother, Edward, was impressed into the British Navy. Miles Strickland became heir upon Edward’s untimely death in battle.’
This was what came of optimism. Hope had allowed herself to believe, just once, that with a little effort on her part, things might turn out for the best. And this was how the Lord rewarded her. She swallowed her nerves. ‘If our country has treated him so unfairly, perhaps he will refuse the title and remain in America.’
‘It is too late to hope for that, I think,’ Mr Drake announced. ‘Even now, the schooner Mary Beth is on its way from Philadelphia to Bristol. If he booked passage on it, as he planned, he may arrive at any time.’
‘We are not at fault for a war on the other side of the world, or the doings of the Royal Navy,’ Hope said, feeling her vision of the future crumbling like a sandcastle at high tide.
‘But there is still the matter of the missing entail,’ Mr Drake replied, speaking slowly, as if to a child. ‘It is best that we make sure he has no other reasons to be unhappy with you. Give me a day to examine your list in detail. If it is convenient, I will call for you tomorrow at ten and we will begin the process of making things right.’
She wanted to argue that it was not convenient at all. He could take the list and go to perdition for all she cared. They were doomed. All doomed. What good would it do her to start a search that she was sure they could never finish?
But Mr Leggett must have chosen this fellow for his skills in retrieval. Perhaps he could find a way to make things marginally better. If he needed her help, then surely her help was required. The sooner it was begun, the sooner it would be over. And she could not depend on rough winter crossings to delay the Earl indefinitely. The house needed to be in something approaching order when he arrived at it. She forced another smile for Mr Drake. ‘If this is to be settled, I do not see that I have any choice in the matter. I will accompany you as long as certain conditions are met.’
‘And they are?’ he said, with an expectant tip of his head.
‘For the sake of modesty, I will remain veiled in your presence. We will speak no more than is necessary and under no circumstances will you call me by name while in the presence of others.’
If he was insulted there was no sign of it. His smile was as distant and unwavering as ever. ‘Of course, Miss Strickland.’
‘Then I will expect you at ten o’clock tomorrow.’
‘Until then.’ He offered a bow worthy of a true gentleman, then spoiled it by turning towards the back of the house.
She sighed. ‘You are standing next to a door, Mr Drake. Please, use it.’
‘As you wish, Miss Strickland. He turned and let himself out of the front door and into the street.
Hope moved to the window and watched him walk down Harley Street, sure she could not truly breathe until he was out of sight. Mr Leggett meant well, as did Mr Drake. Even if it did not make things better, their interference could not possibly make things worse. But had it been necessary to tell her about the Earl of Comstock’s antipathy for England? It was almost as if Mr Drake took as much pleasure in seeing her disappointment as she had in his.
‘My, what a charming fellow.’ Grandmother stood behind her, looking out the window at their departing visitor.
‘He was not charming,’ Hope said, wondering if her grandmother had formed her opinion based on the way the man’s coat hugged his shoulders as he walked. ‘And how would you know, either way? You did not speak to him, did you?’
Grandmother peered past her at the retreating figure. ‘Only briefly, when he arrived. He is the fellow James hired to help us with the entail.’
‘You knew.’ Hope could not help her shrill tone at the discovery that, once again, she had been denied important information and left in an awkward situation to fend for herself.
‘Did I forget to mention it?’ She looked at Hope with the widened eyes of one who thought that age and good intentions made up for outright lies. ‘I did not want to trouble you. But when he arrived looking so young and handsome, I assumed the two of you would not want an old chaperon spoiling a perfectly lovely chat.’
Just as she had suspected. ‘You sent a strange man to speak to me without as much as a footman to explain.’ She probably assumed that if she threw the two of them together they would stick like lodestones, just as Faith and James had. ‘I cannot solve our problems by marrying the first person who walks through the door, you know.’
Her normally cheerful grandmother arched a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You are a fine one to say such a thing. That is your plan, is it not? To marry the new Earl?’
‘That is entirely different,’ Hope replied. At least she knew the Earl’s family. Lord only knew what sort of dubious pedigree Mr Drake might have.
‘It is not the worst idea,’ the Dowager admitted. ‘But as I tried to explain to your sister Faith, choosing a husband for financial expediency is never as satisfying as a union based on mutual affection.’ She stared down the street in the direction Mr Drake had disappeared. ‘Or, at least, temporary passion. That fellow was quite handsome, I thought.’
It was annoyingly true. His hair was the colour of winter wheat and, though she’d often thought grey eyes seemed cold, his were warm and inquisitive, especially when paired with that slightly sardonic smile. ‘I did not notice his looks,’ she lied.
‘Are you ill?’ Her grandmother reached out to touch her forehead.
Hope shook off the hand. ‘Merely circumspect. My parents would have thought it most unchristian of me to evaluate a man on appearance alone.’
The older woman gave a disapproving tut. ‘When we encouraged your father to read for the church, we had no idea he would take the whole thing so seriously.’
Both her parents had been more than serious on the subject of morality. They’d been paragons of it, and died together, nursing their village through an epidemic. Then, Hope and her sisters had come to live with their grandparents and a whole new and comparatively decadent world had been opened to them. ‘They would have wanted me to marry sensibly,’ Hope replied. ‘There is nothing sensible about Mr Drake.’
‘A flirtation, then,’ her grandmother suggested, with no thought at all to Hope’s reputation. But then, as she frequently reminded them all, things had been different when she was a girl.
‘Young ladies do not engage in flirtations,’ Hope reminded her. They especially did not do it with employees of their families and she did not think Mr Drake was helping them out of the goodness of his heart.
‘I am not suggesting that you dishonour yourself,’ the Dowager added with a flutter of her lashes. ‘But it would not hurt you to smile when you see a handsome man. It would not ruin you to laugh with him. The world will not end if you let him steal a kiss.’
‘Actually, it might,’ Hope said. ‘Suppose someone learned of it? I would be shunned from polite society and Mr Drake would not be welcome in the homes of the men who employ him.’
The Dowager sighed. ‘Young people nowadays have no spirit at all.’
‘Gentlemen do not marry girls who have too much spirit,’ Hope replied.
‘All the more reason not to marry a gentleman,’ she supplied. ‘Of course, it is possible that the new Earl will not be one. He is American, after all. Lord knows what barbaric habits he has developed.’
‘He is probably married,’ Hope said, glumly. It would be just her luck if he turned out to be a married man who hated the English.
‘Then, perhaps you should look elsewhere. As I reminded you before, Mr Drake is a very handsome man.’
Hope offered a weak smile in response. At times like this, she was never sure if her grandmother was joking, addled by age or simply lost to all propriety. But she had lived with the Dowager far too long to be surprised.
‘Mr Drake has no interest in me, beyond the task set for him by Mr Leggett. There will be no lingering glances, no stolen kisses and definitely no marriage. We will find what missing items we can, he will collect his payment and that will be the end of it.’
‘If you say so, my dear.’ The Dowager shook her head in disappointment. ‘But in my opinion, you are wasting an opportunity.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ Hope replied with an adamant nod of her head.
Chapter Three (#u4070f45f-a864-5b81-a75e-1689b2bcb13c)
So far, the Strickland family was everything Leggett had promised they would be: intelligent, maddening and beautiful. Though of those attributes, the best the Dowager Countess could seem to manage was two out of three.
Judging by her granddaughter, she had been stunning thirty-odd years ago, and was still a handsome woman. But from the dearth of information she’d provided about the problems she’d caused, it was clear the Earl had not married her for her mind. When Gregory had tried to question her upon arriving at the town house, she had deliberately changed the subject, wanting to know more about him than he had cared to share while revealing nothing at all about the shops she had frequented or the things she’d sold to them.
Then, there was Miss Hope Strickland, who was currently sitting beside him in a rented carriage on their way to a pawnshop. She was simmering like a soup kettle with the desire to finish her part in the search as quickly as possible so she might never lay eyes on him again.
And a very pretty kettle of soup she was. Chestnut hair, large brown eyes and a pert nose accented the sort of soft, curvy body a man longed to hold. But the set of her beautiful shoulders and the straight line of her eminently kissable lips had assured him of the unlikelihood that anything would happen between them. She was the granddaughter of an earl and had heard the common ‘Mister’ before his name and dismissed him out of hand.
Likewise, he had noted her grandfather’s rank before even meeting her and had come to the same conclusion. He was not the sort of fellow who dallied with female clients, especially when there were titles involved. When one was a living example of what might happen when such niceties were ignored, one did not take them lightly.
At the moment, Miss Hope sat beside him silent, cloaked and veiled, as if his very presence brought a risk of contagion. Her desire for anonymity made perfect sense. But there was something annoying in the way she had demanded it, as if she had not trusted him to protect her unless ordered to do so. It left him with the urge to strip off one of her gloves and touch her bare hand, just to see if she melted from upper-class perfection to a wailing puddle of mediocrity. Or at least tug on the curl that had been bouncing at the side of her face yesterday. This morning, it had been held in place by not just one but two hair pins, as if she was punishing it for being unruly.
Hope Strickland was the sort of woman who liked both people and things to be orderly, proper and predictable. He would likely be a great disappointment to her. Hopefully, they could manage to put their differences aside while working together. Until the matter of the entail was settled, they would be near to inseparable.
He glanced towards her and away again, hoping she had not noticed his interest. It felt as if, somewhere deep inside his head, an alarm bell was ringing. They should not be alone together. It was dangerous to her reputation and to his...
Something.
He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he knew in his bones that he shouldn’t be alone with her and it had nothing to do with society’s expectations of virtuous young ladies. He had no worries about self-control, either hers or his own. But the silence in the cab was wearing on his nerves. It made him want to converse, even though she had made it quite clear she did not want to speak to him.
He should never have requested her help. It was not as if he had to find the exact items again. He merely needed a good approximation. The American Stricklands had not spent the long years away pining for the candlesticks they meant to retrieve today. One set would be much like another to the new Earl, as long as he did not note an absence of light in the dining room.
But what the devil did the Dowager mean by an ‘oddment’? It was the only word he had deciphered in the line of scribbling near the bottom of the list. And how was he to decide which ‘blue painting’ was the correct one? Only a member of the family could guide him through the inadequate descriptions provided to him and Miss Hope Strickland was the only one willing to help.
But since she had done so begrudgingly, he had a perverse desire to see her discommoded. That was why he had chosen the worst shop on the list as their first stop. There would be almost no chance at success for it traded in the saddest of merchandise, not the sort of things likely to be found in one of England’s greatest houses. While he knew that there were better hunting grounds ahead, she would leave the shop coated in the miasma of despair that seemed to hang about the financial misfortune of others.
The carriage stopped in front of a plain door in St Giles, marked with the traditional three balls that indicated its business. He exited, offering a hand to Miss Strickland to help her to the street, while keeping a wary eye out for the cutpurses and beggars that would appear to harass the gentry.
To his surprise, she did not shrink back in terror at the riff-raff that surrounded them. But neither did she offer thanks for his assistance. Instead, she sailed imperiously past him to stand expectantly at the door, waiting for him to open it.
It was only common courtesy that he do so, but for some reason, it rankled. All the same, he opened and she passed through. And at last he was rewarded with the response he’d expected, the utter confusion of a gently bred lady who had never before shopped for someone else’s cast-offs.
She paused in the entryway as if afraid to go further. He could tell by the subtle shifting of her bonnet that her eyes were darting around the room, stunned to immobility by the cases of brass buttons and mismatched earbobs, and racks upon racks of shabby coats and fashionless gowns.
He shut the door and stepped past her. A quick scan of the room proved that none of the finer items would be found here, but he had no intention of leaving without making an enquiry, lest Miss Strickland realise he’d only come here to torture her. He rang the bell on the counter to summon the proprietor.
The man who stepped out from behind the curtained back room was every bit as fearsome as he’d hoped, a gaunt scarecrow of a fellow with one eye that did not seem to want to follow the other. It gave the impression that he could watch both his customers at the same time. At the sight of him, the girl who had been so quick to treat Gregory as her lackey now faded one step behind him, trying to disappear into his shadow.
It made him smile more broadly than he might have as he greeted the pawnbroker. ‘Good morning, my fine fellow. I am seeking candlesticks. Not just any candlesticks, mind you. I want the sort the posh types pawn when they can’t pay their gambling debts.’
The man answered with a nod and a toothless grin, then pointed wordlessly into the corner at a small display of plate.
Gregory glanced at it for only a moment, before choosing the gaudiest pair and walking back towards the counter. He felt a sharp tug on his sleeve and looked back at Miss Strickland.
‘Those are not ours,’ she whispered.
‘I thought you could not describe what we were looking for,’ he countered.
‘I cannot. But I am sure that I have never seen those in my life.’
‘Neither has Miles Strickland. He has never seen England, much less these candlesticks.’
‘That does not make them right,’ she countered. ‘Ignorance is no substitute for truth.’
Perhaps not. But in Gregory’s opinion, it made for a pretty fine excuse and had worked well in the past. ‘It is not as if we will be lying to him. He will expect to find candlesticks and we are leaving him some. He will never know the difference.’
‘But I will,’ she said.
Hadn’t Leggett said something about the sisters being the daughters of a vicar? If so, their ingrained morality was proving deeply inconvenient. ‘Your sister’s husband is not paying me enough to turn the town upside down for things that are likely lost for ever.’
‘If all that was needed was to grab the first things that came to hand, I could have done it myself.’ Noting the wary way she had watched the proprietor, he doubted that was the case. But she had no trouble standing up to Gregory, for he saw a faint flash of irritation in the brown eyes glittering behind her veil. ‘I do not know what he is paying you, but I am sure Mr Leggett did not hire you to do the job halfway. If the funds were insufficient, you should have negotiated for more when he hired you.’
For a sheltered young lady she was surprisingly perceptive. She was annoying as well. But his fee had been tripled to account for that.
He gave her a subservient smile. ‘Very well, then. I shall try harder.’
He turned back to the shopkeeper. ‘You have a very small collection for an item that is one of the first to be sold, when the gentry’s pockets are to let. Are there any others in the shop?’
The man favoured them with his wall-eyed gaze for a moment and Gregory set a coin on the counter. ‘For the inconvenience of opening your stockroom to us, good sir.’
The man pocketed the coin and stepped back, pulling the curtain to the side to let them pass.
The little room at the back of the shop was cluttered, as he expected it to be, but not without organisation. The shelves were full of more dented bird cages, tarnished teakettles and chipped vases than could be sold in a lifetime. Beneath them were an equally large number of chests, full of silver flatware and... Lo and behold, candlesticks.
He threw back the lid and lit a nearby candle to supplement the meagre light streaming from a grimy window on the back wall. Then he gestured Miss Strickland closer. ‘Here you are. If the items are to be found in this shop, you are the only one who might tell. Look for yourself.’
He had expected a shudder of distaste and the demand that he sort through the chest and display the contents to her. Instead, all her reservations fell away. She pushed back the veil and dropped to her knees on the floor beside it, digging without hesitation through the pile of dented flambeaus and sconces.
Suddenly, she sighed in surprise and turned to him with a dented pewter stick clutched in her hands. She offered it to him and reached up to push back her bonnet. Then she smoothed her hair out of the way, leaving a streak of tarnish on her soft, white brow. ‘Does it match?’
He frowned in confusion and leaned forward to look closer. The decoration she held was designed to imitate a Corinthian column, the top a square of ornate tracery. On her forehead was a small V-shaped scar with a break that matched a gap in the decoration.
‘Someone hit you with this?’ He hefted the weight of it in his hands and felt the anger rise in his gorge at the brutality of the late Earl, her grandfather.
She nodded. Then, oddly, she smiled. ‘My sister, Charity.’ Her hand dived back into the chest and pulled out the mate, which was bent at the base. ‘In response, I threw this one at her. But I missed and it hit the dining-room wall. There is still a crack in the plaster where it landed.’
He felt momentarily weak as the rage left him again. ‘That is good to know. I would hate to think that either of you had a skull thick enough to cause such damage to it.’ But if they had, it ought not to have surprised him. Hope Strickland was proving to be the most hard-headed woman he’d ever met. He doubted her sister was any different.
She was still smiling. ‘Then, Faith came and pulled both our plaits until we cried. I had forgotten all about that.’ She was looking fondly at the candlesticks, as if meeting old friends. She frowned. ‘And now, we will have to give them to a complete stranger, just because he shares our name.’
Her dark mood disappeared as quickly as it had come. She looked back up at him, so fresh and unguarded that he felt a lump rising in his throat. ‘But I remember this. It is why just any candlestick would not do. Perhaps the new Earl would not know the difference, but it would not be the same to me.’
‘I understand.’ He stared at the smudge on her forehead in fascination. He wanted to wipe it away, smoothing a finger over that small, white vee in wonder. A flaw should make her uglier, not more fascinating. Was it raised, he wondered, or smooth? A single touch, under the guise of cleaning away the grime, would tell him.
He cleared his mind, cleared his throat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. ‘You have...’ he touched his own forehead ‘...here.’
She gave him a misty smile and a shrug of embarrassment before wiping away the dirt and returning his linen to him.
He was no less intrigued once it was gone. Perhaps it was her reaction to the injury that drew him to her. He’d been in such childhood scraps himself, but did not remember any of them as fondly as she did hers.
Of course, he’d had no brother to strike him. He did not often think of that, either. But suddenly there was a strange emptiness in him, as if he was hungry, but could not decide for what.
It was probably tea. The single slice of toast he’d had for breakfast had burned away hours ago. He needed sustenance to fill his belly and clear his mind. The sooner they left this store and returned Miss Strickland to her town house, the sooner he could remedy the hunger. He held out one hand for the heirlooms and another to help her to her feet. ‘Come. Let us pay for the return of these. Perhaps, tomorrow we can find your painting.’
* * *
They went back to the carriage and rode in silence back to Harley Street, where he handed her down to the waiting footman and carried the brown-paper bundle containing the candlesticks into the house for her.
The smugness he felt at today’s success did not do him credit. He had been confident of his ability to deliver a satisfactory solution to Leggett’s problem. But he had not expected to find a reasonable duplicate on the very first day, much less an actual item. Despite his employer’s warnings that the entire family was nothing but trouble, Hope Strickland might actually be the key to completion.
There was still the matter of her plans for the unsuspecting American. But since they had resulted from her lack of confidence that the entail could be made complete, today’s success might have loosened her grip on them.
It had been quite gratifying to see the look on her face when they had found the candlesticks. Since he had caught her practising her smiles in a mirror, he’d doubted that any of the ones she’d given him were born of sincerity. In his experience, the ruling class was good at appearing to be things they weren’t: kind, friendly and happy, for instance.
But her grin when she’d pulled the family silver out of that chest had been positively impish. The youthful mischief in her expression was a million miles away from the aloof mask she’d worn for the rest of their time together.
When she’d looked up at him, bathing him in an aura of true happiness, he’d had to remind himself that his reward for taking the job was not actually the smile of a beautiful young lady. He was doing this for money.
The proper Miss Strickland had seemed disgusted by the idea when she had talked of his fee. In her world, women might sell themselves to the highest bidder for a loveless marriage without turning a hair, but men were expected to do things for country, gallantry or sport. They never did anything as common as earning a living.
But as she’d talked of her childhood, she had forgotten what he was and looked at him as if he were an equal. Better yet, she had seen him as a man. There had been surprise on her face and perhaps a little awe in his ability to help her so easily. He had been flattered. He was smiling at her now, as he set the package on the dining-room table.
She looked up at him, as she removed her bonnet, and gave a slight toss of her head to free the last strand of her hair from the ribbon. Then, she smiled back at him with a puzzled expression that proved her earlier lapse was forgotten. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Drake. The day was more productive than I expected. But now I must go and change for dinner.’
It took a moment to recognise the reason for her statement. He meant nothing to her. In fact, she seemed a little surprised that it had been necessary to dismiss him. When servants were finished being useful, they were expected to disappear until the next time they were needed.
Instead, he had been standing there like an idiot, as if he thought they had a reason to converse socially. It was the same feeling that had come over him in the carriage and he must gain control of it immediately. He forced a polite nod in response and said, ‘Of course, Miss Strickland. If it is convenient, I will return tomorrow and we will try another shop.’
Her already relaxed expression seemed to become even more placid. She gave a contented sigh, secure in the knowledge that they understood each other. ‘That will be fine, Mr Drake. And now, if you will excuse me?’
He bowed and she turned and left him to find his own way out.
He stood for a moment, staring after her, annoyed with her and with himself. When contemplating his place in society, he was not normally given to envy or dissatisfaction. By dint of his own effort, he had gained wealth and comfort and was smart enough not to be burdened by the sort of problems that led people to hire him. He was more than happy.
But today that did not feel like enough.
‘Mr Drake.’
He jumped at the sound of his name. The girl who had spoken it was staring at him from the doorway. Leggett had said that she was but nineteen years old, yet there was something about the look in her spectacled eyes that made her seem much older. The illusion was encouraged by the rather old-fashioned way she wore her straight brown hair and the utilitarian cut of her gown.
‘Miss Charity, I presume,’ he said, bowing deeply.
She nodded. ‘We have not been introduced. But then, you had not been introduced to my sister when you barged in on her yesterday.’
Apparently, there were no secrets in the Strickland family, especially not as they related to the harassing of strangers. He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Your grandmother led me to believe I was expected.’
She gave him a dubious smile.
He held out his open hands and shrugged. ‘I gave her my card and she told me to find your sister in the hall. She assured me that Miss Strickland would know exactly what it was that needed doing. She made no offer of introduction. I assumed none was necessary.’
Miss Charity’s expression grew only slightly less doubtful. ‘If I were you, I would be very careful in following when the Dowager is the one in front. She veers wide of the truth when it suits her.’
‘Why would it suit her to...?’
‘Lie?’ The girl finished his question with the same strange, knowing smile. ‘Because in recent years, the truth has been quite unpleasant. She prefers to live in the past where things were easier.’
‘But what does any of that have to do with me?’
‘She would like my sister to be as happy as she was, in her youth. To achieve that, she must find a man for Hope.’ Charity paused for a moment. ‘Or men. I am unsure how many of the stories she tells are true, but they are always very colourful.’
‘I see.’ In truth, he did not. ‘What does that have to do with me?’
Miss Charity looked over her glasses at him. ‘You are male, are you not?’
‘Of course. But what...?’ And then, the truth came clear. ‘You cannot mean—’
‘I would not take it personally,’ Charity interrupted. ‘My sister has been uninclined to search for a husband outside of the one outlandish candidate she waits for. If Grandmother chose to throw a handsome man into her afternoon without warning, it was more of a call to awaken the senses rather than an actual attempt to mate the pair of you.’
At the clinical way she described it, he could see why Leggett had not hesitated in tripling his fee. ‘That is a comfort, I suppose.’
‘But you are not here to settle my sister’s future,’ she said, watching him more closely than he liked. ‘How goes the search for the missing entail?’
‘I do not anticipate any problems with it.’ He kept his tone polite, professional and opaque.
She gave a shake of her head. ‘The whole enterprise is unnecessary, of course.’
‘You think so?’ he said, surprised. Unlike the rest of the family, she seemed unaffected by the impending audit.
She gave a slight nod. ‘If my plan comes to fruition, we need not worry about staying in the heir’s good graces. But since you have been hired to complete the inventory to satisfy the rest of the family, feel free to grab items at random that fit the bill. What will some American know if every bell and button in the house is not just as my grandfather left it?’
‘I suggested much the same,’ he said. ‘But your sister requires greater accuracy than that.’
‘Hope appreciates order and is no good at dissembling,’ Charity replied. ‘She refuses to believe that the rest of us can get away with an adjustment of the truth because she knows she cannot.’
‘Such honesty is a thing to be prized,’ he said. ‘You make it sound like weakness of character.’
‘You do not have to live with it,’ Charity said. ‘At least, not yet.’
He stared at her, waiting for clarification, but none was offered. Perhaps she’d intended it as a joke. He had been told she was a rather odd girl.
‘And how do you get along with my sister?’ she added, which did not help his peace of mind at all.
‘She has been most helpful in establishing the provenance of the item we have found. I appreciate her assistance and anticipate no difficulties in our working together.’ He gave her what he hoped was his most distant and professional smile.
‘I see,’ she said in a way that made him want to demand an explanation of exactly what it was she saw. ‘I am sure she will say much the same of you.’
‘I am glad to know it,’ he said, feeling strangely unsettled by the compliment.
‘And is the restoration of the entail your only job for our family?’ Charity’s searching look had returned, prying at his composure as if looking for a crack.
There was no way she could have known the full scope of his mission. ‘What would make you think I was here for another reason?’
‘Because I know Mr Leggett,’ she said. ‘Before he met my sister, he was a rake who did not care at all for propriety, much less love. But now?’ She clasped her hands and gave a mocking flutter of her eyelashes. ‘He wants everyone to be as happy as he is.’
‘That is commendable of him,’ Gregory responded.
‘Forward is what I would call it,’ Charity replied. ‘He is right to think that Hope should not wait needlessly for the coming of the Earl. She will find that for herself if we leave her alone.’
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘But it would be just like a man to try subterfuge once he realises reason will not work. A distracting flirtation, for example...’
‘What the devil are you implying?’ He regretted the curse immediately, but the words had been so blunt that he’d forgotten he was talking to a young lady. ‘I was not sent here to take advantage of your sister.’
‘You are a problem solver, are you not, Mr Drake? Why would you not think of the most direct solution?’
‘Because I am a gentleman,’ he said. And because he knew from experience just what ruin such a thing might cause.
She touched a finger to her chin. ‘You claim to be a gentleman. But I can find nothing of your past, or your parentage.’
‘If it does not matter to Mr Leggett, why should it matter to you?’
‘Because he does not know this family as well as I do,’ Charity replied. ‘And because, if I am honest, he is not as intelligent as I am. If he had thought through the implications of leaving a stranger to ferry his sister-in-law around London, you’d have already had this conversation with him.’
Gregory had not got as far in life as he had without remaining calm when faced with bigoted questions from the gentry. Normally, he would have spoken of his extensive résumé and presented references from other men of stature who had been satisfied with his performance.
But today, it did not seem to be enough. Only the whole truth would do. ‘You could find nothing of my parentage because I do not know it myself. I have been told that my mother was from a good family, but died in childbirth. My father was less so. He seduced her, then abandoned her to her fate. When she died, her family was faced with the problem of an infant whose very existence was a blot on the family honour and the good name of a lost and presumably beloved daughter. They provided for my care and education anonymously, but have never shown an interest in the child I was or the man I have become.’
‘I see,’ said Miss Charity.
Her assessment annoyed him. ‘If you truly do, then you will know that your sister’s reputation is perfectly safe with me. Since I cannot prove my honour with a pedigree, I have done it with my behaviour. I have no intention of being the man my father was and leaving a lover dead or disgraced, or a son abandoned to the care of strangers and left to field such questions as the ones you are asking me.’ He stared back at her with the same unflinching intensity she had been using on him.
It did not seem to bother her in the least. At last, she sighed in what he hoped was satisfaction. ‘Very well, then. You are honourable by choice. That is probably a better reason than those who claim their good name is enough to swear on. My apologies for pressing you to reveal so much of your past. But despite what the family sometimes thinks, I do love my sisters and will not stand by and let them be hurt.’
He answered with a respectful nod.
‘And no matter what Mr Leggett may have asked of you, do not interfere too strenuously in Hope’s future. It will sort itself once I make her aware of certain facts.’
He gave no response to this at all. Since she was not his employer, what she wanted did not signify.
She pushed her spectacles up her nose, which seemed to magnify her already large hazel eyes, and fixed him with a gaze that would have been quelling had it come from a man. ‘And most important of all, you must not meddle in my affairs, no matter what my sister may wish of you. Keep Hope occupied with restoring the entail. Come to me when you reach the inevitable impasse and I will help you. But until then, do not bother me with it, for I am occupied with more important matters.’
‘And what are these matters, Miss Charity?’ he said and followed it with his most winning smile.
She touched the side of her nose and winked. ‘All in good time, Mr Drake. But I assure you, they have nothing to do with husband-hunting at Almack’s.’ She glanced at the door. ‘Do not let me keep you from your own business.’
And thus, he was dismissed for the second time that day. He bowed to her, as he had to her sister. ‘Nor do I wish to keep you from yours, whatever it may be. Good day, Miss Charity.’
‘Until tomorrow, Mr Drake.’
Chapter Four (#u4070f45f-a864-5b81-a75e-1689b2bcb13c)
As she waited for Mr Drake’s return the next morning, Hope paused to admire the candlesticks which had been polished and displayed on the dining-room sideboard. They belonged in the manor, not in London. But this would have to do until she could arrange for them to be transported.
‘So, you actually found something.’ Charity stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. ‘When I heard of your plans to go treasure hunting, I assumed Mr Leggett was wasting his money.’
‘On the contrary,’ Hope said, running an idle finger along the length of the pewter. ‘Mr Drake is very diligent. I have the utmost confidence in him.’
‘Grandmother said you did not like him,’ Charity said.
‘I do not claim to,’ Hope answered. ‘But I do like these candlesticks. It is nice to see them back in the family.’
‘And it was very nice of Mr Leggett to find such a handsome man to retrieve them,’ Charity said with a sly smile.
‘I had not noticed,’ Hope lied.
‘Then you are either blind or deliberately obtuse,’ Charity said.
‘Hmm,’ said Hope, turning to the window to watch for the arrival of his coach.
‘Of course, he is little better than a servant,’ Charity added.
‘It is unworthy of you to say such a thing,’ Hope said. ‘Our own father was a servant to the Lord and Mother was the daughter of Comstock’s man of business. If Papa did not have a problem...’ She turned back to continue the lecture and saw Charity grinning at her agitation. ‘You were baiting me.’
Charity shrugged. ‘I just wanted to see if you remembered our origins. Mr Drake thinks you terribly proud.’
‘When did you speak to Mr Drake?’ More importantly, why had they been discussing her? And had he really formed such a poor opinion of her in only two meetings?
‘I might have run into him as he left yesterday morning,’ Charity answered.
‘You mean you were lurking in the hall, waiting to catch a glimpse of him,’ Hope replied. ‘You are too young for him, if that is your line of thinking.’ Her little sister had shown no real interest in men thus far, which made her sudden curiosity about Mr Drake all the more alarming.
‘I am nineteen,’ Charity replied. ‘Some would say I am just the right age for marriage and at nearly twenty-one you are dangerously near to becoming a spinster.’
‘You are still not right for Mr Drake,’ Hope said, exasperated. Then she added, ‘We do not even know if he is married.’
‘Do you wish for me to ask him?’
‘Certainly not.’ Sometimes, it was convenient to have such a nosy sister, who would satisfy her curiosity without Hope having to admit she had ever wondered. ‘It is not our concern whether or not he has a wife.’ She sounded as disapproving as she was able, knowing that Charity could rarely resist the forbidden. Then she added, ‘He is a total stranger to us.’
‘As is the new Earl of Comstock,’ her sister reminded her.
‘There is no comparison between the two. We know nothing about Mr Drake, his finances or his family. If he is single, we do not even know if he wishes to marry. But the Earl will have no choice in the matter. He must produce an heir and might welcome a helpmate already familiar with the holdings he has inherited. In turn, he will offer security,’ Hope reminded her, ticking off the logical reasons she’d used to convince herself of the plan.
‘So, you will sacrifice yourself to maintain the status quo.’
‘It is hardly a sacrifice to marry a peer,’ she said, even though it sometimes felt like it.
‘It is always a burden to alter your life for the good of another,’ Charity said. ‘If you are doing so for my sake, it is not necessary.’
‘If you don’t mean to help yourself, then I must. You will not find a husband hiding in someone else’s library.’
‘I will be fine, with or without a husband,’ Charity said. ‘We might be fine together, if you will let go of the foolish idea that it is necessary to marry to be safe.’
‘You do not understand...’ Hope said.
‘I understand more than you know. I simply do not care.’
‘That is quite clear from your appearance,’ Hope snapped. ‘We are in London, not Berkshire. You might be required to receive visitors while I am gone. Please return to your room and do not come down again until you are wearing a new gown and a hair ribbon.’
Charity glanced in the mirror above the fireplace and then away again, unbothered by her sister’s hectoring. ‘The man I marry will have to love my imperfections, for I have no intention of changing my dress or my manner just to please him.’
‘Then you do not know as much as you think,’ Hope said. ‘It is up to us to make ourselves desirable. It is not in the nature of men to compromise.’
‘If a woman has enough money, they will do it quick enough,’ Charity said with a nod.
‘Since we are currently without funds that is not a consideration.’ Not for the first time, Hope wondered if there wasn’t a strain of madness running through the family. Sometimes she felt more like a keeper than a sister.
‘Perhaps I shall sell some of Grandmother’s jewellery,’ Charity said. ‘There are more than enough diamonds in her parure to spare one or two stones.’
‘No!’ Hope balled her hands into fists, trying to keep from tearing at her own hair. ‘There will be no more pilfering from the entail. If that is the wonderful plan you keep hinting at, it is even more foolish than mine.’
‘So you admit that your plan is foolish,’ Charity announced, taking nothing else from the conversation.
‘No!’
‘Miss Strickland. Miss Charity.’ Mr Drake had arrived unannounced, yet again, and was standing in the doorway, witnessing the whole embarrassing scene.
Hope pushed past her sister and grabbed him by the arm, trying to turn him towards the door. ‘We need to be going. Now, Mr Drake.’
‘Of course, Miss Strickland.’ He pulled free of her grasp and stepped ahead of her to open doors and ready the carriage.
The bustle of the next few moments, putting on coat and bonnet, allowed her time to recover from her mortification. It was bad enough that he had caught her arguing with her sister and even worse that she’d laid hands on his person and tried to drag him from the room. If he had arrived a few minutes earlier, he’d have heard a discourse on his appearance, talents and marriageability.
Or had he heard? She had no idea how long he had been standing there, watching them fight. She stared across the carriage at him, searching his face for any trace of awareness.
As usual, his perfect face was effortlessly composed. There was no sign of clenching in that finely planed jawline. No indication that his lips, which were both firm and full, had a smile hiding in the corners. And though his eyes were alert, like a hawk scanning the distance for prey, there was no indication that the mind behind them was ruminating on a scrap of overheard conversation.
As her sister had said, he really was uncommonly handsome. It was not as if Hope hadn’t noticed the fact yesterday. But now that she had a reason to study his face, it was rather like staring too long into the sun. Her cheeks felt hot and the image of him seemed to be embedded in her thoughts.
It was probably what came of staring. Ladies did not stare, even at people they wanted to look at. It was not Hope’s habit to do so. Perhaps it would be better to drop her eyes and peer at him through her lashes.
But that sounded rather like flirting. She did not mean to do that, either. It was good that she was veiled, so that he did not witness her, blushing over nothing and unsure where to rest her eyes. It did no good to look lower, at the immaculate shirt front visible beneath his coat, or at his strong hands, resting casually in his lap as if waiting for the moment when they would steady her departure from the carriage.
It was growing stuffy under the veil. That was likely why she could not seem to catch her breath. Though she could not think of a rule against it, holding one’s breath until it came out in sighs was probably as rude as staring. But now that her breathing had fallen from its normal rhythm, she could not seem to find it again. The first was too shallow, the next so deep that it sucked the veil into her mouth, which ended in a sputtering cough and the need to rip her bonnet away and gasp for fresh air.
Mr Drake glanced in her direction, surprised. It was clear he had not been thinking of her at all until she had called such mortifying attention to herself.
She cleared her throat and patted her chest lightly as if trying to clear her lungs. ‘A bit of lint. From the veil, I think.’
He nodded in sympathy. ‘You needn’t wear it in the carriage, if it makes you uncomfortable. The shades are down and there will be more than enough time to put it in place when we arrive at a shop.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, still not sure if she wished to give up her disguise just yet.
‘And, in case you have been wondering, your sister exaggerates. I did not find you overly proud on our first two meetings. Your behaviour towards me was well within the social norms.’
She had been right to worry. He had heard everything. Now, she was absolutely sure she was blushing at him. ‘I apologise for the behaviour you witnessed as you arrived, Mr Drake. And for seizing your arm and forcing you from the house, as well. And for Charity’s lies,’ she added, for that was what they had been.
‘It is I who owe you the apology,’ he reminded her. ‘While I did not intend to eavesdrop, that was the result of not announcing myself sooner.’ He offered a shrug and another smile. ‘And though I do not know from experience, I am given to understand that it is the job of younger siblings to be as aggravating as possible.’
‘You have none of your own, then?’ It was not her place to ask, although he had opened the subject himself, so perhaps it was not too very rude.
He shook his head. ‘No brothers or sisters at all. And so that Charity does not need to quiz me tomorrow, you can assure her that I am not married, as yet, but fully intend to do so, should I find the right woman.’
‘You heard everything, then.’
He nodded.
‘You must think us all quite horrid,’ she said. ‘My grandmother was a lax guardian, at best. Since she could not be bothered to teach her, it has been left to me to be a good example to my younger sister and to instruct her in ladylike behaviour. But I have had little success.’
‘Perhaps if you refrained from throwing candlesticks at her,’ he said.
‘It only happened the one time,’ she assured him, trying not to think of all the childhood stories Charity might tell him that would sound even worse. He might never have known of them had she been able to keep her mouth shut on the previous day. ‘We were rambunctious children when we arrived at the manor. At first, we did not understand the value of the items we played with. When we were old enough, Faith and I were sent away to school for a time.’
‘And Charity?’ he asked.
She sighed. ‘She said that, if we were not going to Eton, or some other place that would prepare us for university, it was not worth leaving the house. Her manners are abominable, of course. But she is too antisocial to bother with throwing candlesticks. And she is prodigiously smart.’
‘That is a comfort, I suppose,’ he said.
‘But it pains me that she did not go to Miss Pennyworth’s Academy to learn deportment. It improved my character immeasurably.’
He smiled and touched his arm, wincing in pain. ‘As I can tell from the way we took our leave of the town house.’
She readied another horrified apology. ‘That was most unlike me.’
‘It was nothing,’ he said in a soft voice that immediately put her at her ease. ‘Since you take your manners so seriously, it is unfair of me to tease you over them.’
She would have been better off to remain silent. Now, he thought her both overly proud and humourless. But either of those was better than being as nosy as her sister had been. ‘On the contrary, I do not fault you for any response you might give to the conversation you heard or my behaviour towards you. What you witnessed should never have taken place. As I told Charity, it is not our business to wonder about your personal life.’
‘I took it as a compliment,’ he replied, still smiling. ‘A total lack of interest can be rather dehumanising.’
She remembered the look he had given her in parting on the previous day, as if he had expected something more from her than an awkward goodbye. Had she been the one to treat him as less than a man? It was not as if she hadn’t been curious about him. It was just that ladies were not supposed to express it openly. But if he was willing to make light of the situation, then so should she. She gave him a friendly nod, hoping that it did not look as forced and awkward as it felt. ‘If it makes you feel better, I will ask you at least one impertinent question a day until we have completed out task.’
‘I will look forward to it, Miss Strickland,’ he said, nodding back. Then he touched his hat brim to remind her to replace her bonnet and veil. ‘As I mentioned before we parted yesterday, today we will be searching for the blue painting. I have several dealers in mind, specialising in fine art. I am sure your grandmother must have visited one of them.’
The paintings in the first gallery they visited would have been more at home in a museum than gracing the walls of Comstock Manor. The owner was obviously familiar with Mr Drake, plying him with offers of tea or sherry while Hope perused artwork. She allowed herself a few moments of guilty pleasure, wishing that she had the nerve to lie and claim even the smallest of the landscapes, for any of them were likely to be prettier than the painting they were truly seeking. Then she turned back to her companion and gave a silent shake of her head.
He rose and thanked the gallery owner, then led her back to the carriage.
The next place was similar. Mr Drake was still treated with familiarity, but there were no offers of refreshment. Though the art was not quite as impressive, it was still of a higher quality than Hope had seen at home. Again, she shook her head. And, again, they moved on.
With each successive shop they moved further from Bond Street until they stopped at a shop nearly as dreary as the one that had contained the candlesticks. The ragged collection of paintings stacked along the walls no longer hid Old Masters. A few were no better than girls’ school watercolours. But the shopkeeper followed close behind them, assuring them that the frames were worth ten bob at least.
Mr Drake shook his head. ‘The frames are not important. We are seeking an oil painting. Something with blue in it, I think, to match the paper on the drawing-room walls.’
The proprietors of the earlier shops would have been horrified at the idea of matching art to the wall colour. But it must not have been an unusual request here, for the dealer announced that he kept the paintings sorted by colour. Then he led them to a dark and crowded corner of the shop where heavy gilt frames were stacked in precarious piles.
Mr Drake glanced at her expectantly. ‘Did your grandmother say anything about the size of the painting?’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it was a miniature. But it could not have been very large, or I’d have noticed a blank spot on the wall.’
‘We shall start in the middle, then.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they will be easier to lift,’ he said, heaving a pile of paintings down from a high shelf with a grunt. They slid to the floor, raising a cloud of dust.
Hope tipped them forward, one by one, to look at the canvases. As she did so, he turned towards another shelf, pulling down more paintings, just as heavy and just as dirty.
The collected art was random, the only common denominator being colour. There were landscapes by moonlight, seascapes, a still life of berries, studies of birds, and portraits of blue-clad men and women in velvets, satins and...
She stared at the painting in front of her for only a moment, before averting her eyes in shock. Then she glanced back to be sure of its subject before calling to Mr Drake.
‘I have found the painting.’
‘Excellent. Let me summon the proprietor.’

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