A Scandalous Vow (Scandalous Series Book 7) Page 5

  An angry beagle jumped up onto the desk at that moment and barked out the window.

  Marc shook his head in annoyance. “Where the devil were you last night?” he muttered.

  “The dog keeps mostly to his lordship’s chamber,” Simmons said. “The new Lord Staveley who’s away at school. Apparently he misses the boy.”

  The beagle clearly wasn’t much of a guard dog, but he’d have to do. “Make sure he’s roaming the halls this evening,” Marc said. “Put him right outside this door, in fact.”

  “Yes, milord,” Simmons agreed.

  “And in the meantime, send for Donnelly to repair the window.” After bidding his loyal servant a farewell, Marc started down to the mews to loop back around to Curzon Street. But just as he was about to step back onto the street, he spotted Caroline’s daughters headed in his direction, the youngest one holding a fluffy white cat in her arms. The older girl, who looked so much like her mother it was startling, seemed to be scowling. So Marc backed into the shadows to let the pair pass.

  “--but he found Fluff,” the little girl said, glancing up at the older one.

  “I still don’t like him,” her sister said. “He’s too handsome. No one’s that handsome for no reason.”

  The little girl laughed as the pair walked past Marc’s spot, not noticing him. “You are in a mood.”

  Why were they alone? Hadn’t Simmons said Caroline and her daughters were out looking for that cat? So where was their mother? He glanced around the corner and…

  Damn it. Bloody Peasemore, of all the goddamned people, had his head tilted toward Caroline’s as though the two of them were the closest of confidants. His heart squeezed at the sight. Her oldest daughter’s words echoed in Marc’s mind. I still don’t like him. He’s too handsome. Though Marc had no opinion on Peasemore’s handsomeness, he did find the girl to be an astute judge of character, which apparently her mother was not. And he’d always thought Caroline to be the most perceptive woman of his acquaintance. That was damned frustrating.

  There were many things in life Marc could endure. There were many things he had endured. But he didn’t think losing Caroline to that damned Peasemore was one of those things. In fact, he was entirely certain he couldn’t endure that at all.

  Marc watched as Peasemore escorted Caroline up the steps and into Staveley House, and he ground his teeth together in annoyance.

  Perhaps he’d been going about this whole thing the wrong way, trying to protect her from afar. Up close, right beside her…he could protect her much better the closer he was, couldn’t he? There was still the little problem of the fact that she currently hated him, but surely something could be done about that. Something had to be done about that. And before she ended up in Peasemore’s bed instead of Marc’s.

  After Caroline had cleaned Lord Peasemore’s wound and applied Cook’s famed cat-scratch poultice to his cheek, she sent the earl on his way, promising that she would give some thought to his situation. Then she headed to the breakfast room as she was quite famished by that point since she’d forgone breakfast to search Mayfair for Lord Fluffington.

  A swarthy-looking fellow in the corridor, covered in some kind of…well, she wasn’t sure what he was covered in, but he had quite an unfortunate odor about him, strode from the study and nearly collided with Caroline.

  Good heavens! Her heart was pounding. “Who are you?” she demanded of the stranger.

  “Donnelly, ma’am,” he said, his Irish brogue unmistakable as he touched a dirty hand to his cap. “You should be right as rain now,” he added before brushing past her in his path toward the front of the house.

  Well, that explained absolutely nothing. “Simmons!” she called in annoyance.

  A moment later, her borrowed butler appeared in the corridor before her. “Yes, milady?”

  She gestured in the direction the butler had just traveled. “Who was that Irishman just now?”

  “Donnelly, ma’am.”

  Well, the filthy man had said that already. “Not his name.” She didn’t care about his name. She only cared about… “Why exactly is he in my home?”

  Simmons released a sigh. “The window in the study was broken, Lady Staveley. In the interest of your safety, I took the liberty of summoning Donnelly to fix it.”

  The window was broken? How in the world had that happened? Fluff, no matter how industrious he was, could not have managed that. “Do you think it’s possible someone broke it on purpose?”

  She pushed past her butler and strode right inside the study. Glancing around, everything seemed to be in its proper place. She walked over to the window in question and frowned. A normal sized man could stand on the other side and peer into the study rather easily.

  “Does something seem to be missing, milady?” Simmons asked, following her into the room.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, though she began opening the drawers of David’s desk anyway, just to be certain, and… She gasped, and her heart twisted. “It’s gone,” she breathed out.

  “What’s gone?” Simmons crossed the floor to stand before her.

  Caroline shook her head, her heart aching terribly. “My husband’s personal journal.” Why would anyone, other than her or the children, want David’s personal thoughts?

  “Is it possible it’s somewhere else, milady? Misplaced somewhere?”

  Caroline supposed that was possible, though she hadn’t seen it anywhere else. “When you finish with Donnelly, please send for Mr. Blackaby of Bow Street.”

  Simmons’ brow lifted in surprise. “You want to summon Bow Street?”

  Over a personal journal. That’s what he hadn’t said and Caroline felt a little ridiculous all of a sudden. But the fact of the matter was, David was gone and all she had left of him were the thoughts he’d written down. And she had to get them back. “Mr. Blackaby is an old acquaintance. I’m certain he can give me some direction on how to go forward.”

  “I am familiar with Mr. Blackaby, ma’am,” Simmons replied, not happily.

  But of course he would be familiar with the Runner. Blackaby was not terribly fond of Marc. They must have encountered each other in the past. But none of that was neither here nor there as far as Caroline was concerned.

  “Perfect,” she continued, “then you’ll know his direction.” Then she started back for the corridor to make her way to the breakfast room, late in the day as it was. “Do let me know when he arrives,” she said over her shoulder before continuing on her way.

  She found Rachel nibbling on a piece of toast when she strode through the door, looking just as annoyed as she had earlier in the morning. “All right,” Caroline said to her daughter as she motioned to a maid for a cup of coffee and dropped into a seat at the table. “What is wrong now?”

  Rachel scoffed slightly. “Nothing.”

  “Try that again,” Caroline said evenly. “It’s clearly something.”

  “It wouldn’t matter anyway, Mama.” Rachel sighed.

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Caroline asked as the maid placed a cup and saucer before her.

  Her daughter shook her head and dark hair bobbed against her shoulders. “You only ever keep your own council,” her daughter muttered. “I’m not allowed to do things with my friends, but you’ll associate with that man. Hardly seems fair.”

  “Peasemore?” Caroline frowned. “We all owe him a bit of gratitude for returning Fluff to Emma, to us.”

  Rachel nibbled on another bite of toast and didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.

  “What don’t you like about him?” Caroline asked. “Why did you call him that man? Has he done something awful I don’t know about?”

  Rachel shrugged. “How could I possibly know something like that? He just seems rather taken with himself, and I find that obnoxious.”

  Her daughter did have a point, and Caroline smiled even though she didn’t quite feel it. “Well, he’s asked me to help him find a match. Should I take it that you do not want to be co
nsidered for the role?”

  A startled laugh escaped Rachel. “Honestly, Mama!” She shook her head. “No girl wants to marry a man who’s prettier than she is. It’s demoralizing.”

  “No one is prettier than you, sweetheart,” Caroline returned.

  “You’re my mother. You’re supposed to say that.”

  “True,” Caroline conceded with a nod. “But that doesn’t make it any less true. You’re a beautiful girl who—” she grinned at her daughter “—could be a beautiful duchess someday if you wanted me to manage it.”

  “A duchess.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’d sooner marry Edmund than Peasemore.” And then she frowned slightly. “And I am not ever interested in marrying Edmund, on the off chance you didn’t realize that was sarcasm.”

  “I raised you,” Caroline began “I know when you’re serious and when you’re not, Rachel.”

  The maid returned to the breakfast room with a plate of sausage and baked eggs that she placed in front of Caroline. Thank heavens! It smelled so wonderful, and Caroline’s stomach grumbled as she speared a sausage with her fork.

  Then she glanced once more at her daughter. “Most girls would jump at the chance to be matched with a very handsome future duke.”

  Rachel sat a little straighter in her seat. “Yes, well, I am the daughter of the great Caroline Staveley. I believe in true love. I believe in finding the one soul who is my perfect match. I believe in love, affection, and devotion to last a lifetime. What is handsomeness or a lofty rank compared to that?”

  Rachel not only looked like Caroline, she sounded like her too. A romantic at heart, for better or worse. She took her first bite of sausage and then something hit her. Rachel was a romantic at heart. She had adored her father. Was it possible… “Rachel darling, you didn’t by chance take your father’s journal, did you?”

  “Mama!” Her daughter blanched at the suggestion. “I would never do something like that.”

  That was unfortunate. If Rachel had taken the journal, it would have been easily returned. Caroline would look like an idiot in front of Mr. Blackaby, but that wasn’t the end of the world. “Well, if you do see it somewhere, please let me know. I can’t seem to put my hands on it.”

  “Of course, Mama.”

  “Damn it all!” The air whooshed out of Chase Winslett as the punchbag slammed against his chest. He caught his breath and then frowned at Marc. “I’m not sure who has you so angry, Haversham, but I’ll not let you take it out on me.” Then he backed away from the bag he had been holding until a moment before and shook out his right hand as though it stung.

  Marc wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm. Winslett wasn’t a weakling by any stretch of the imagination. Certainly he could withstand another five minutes of exercise. “So little fortitude?”

  The young man scoffed. “My arms have turned to jelly, thanks to you.” Then he gestured to a pair sparring in the middle of Gentleman Jackson’s and said, “Think I’ll just watch for a bit,” before leaving Marc and his punchbag all alone in the corner.

  Marc glanced after the lordling’s departing back and scowled slightly. What an insipid fellow. Watching Lieutenant Avery and his brother-in-law dodge each other’s punches could hardly be entertaining. But as he had an unscheduled stop to make before he headed home, and no one appeared willing to take over for Winslett, he begrudgingly left the bag and went to clean up.

  That was fairly frustrating however, as he’d like to have thrown a few more punches. But the truth of the matter was, he really wanted to throw a few in Peasemore’s direction instead of the punchbag as a stand in. Having that smug jackass on the other end of Marc’s fists would have been much more satisfying on a number of levels.

  Avery or his brother-in-law must have landed a punch if the chorus of oohs from the main room were any indication, but Marc hardly cared. He finished cleaning up and then made his way out of the boxing salon.

  But as soon as he stepped out onto Bond Street, he found the most irritating of fellows leaning against the façade of the building. Marc’s day only wanted for this.

  “Ah, Lord Haversham,” Mr. Blackaby of Bow Street began smoothly. “I had hoped to find you here.”

  And Marc had hoped to never encounter the Runner again, incessant gnat that he was. The man had been a thorn in Marc’s side ever since that unfortunate incident with the late Lord Brookfield. “Afraid I’m in a bit of hurry today, Blackaby,” he returned and started toward Piccadilly with the thought that a hack would be easier to hail there than in the middle of Bond.

  “I’m certain you can make time for me,” Blackaby continued, following in his wake.

  “And once again you would be incorrect,” Marc tossed over his shoulder. One would think the man would get tired of perpetually being wrong, but apparently he thrived on it.

  “Rushing off to read Lord Staveley’s journal?”

  Marc stopped in his tracks when the Runner’s words hit his ears. Staveley’s journal? He turned on his heel and glared at the man. “I beg your pardon?” he growled, ignoring the other pedestrians walking past them.

  “Her ladyship would just like it returned, my lord.”

  Staveley’s journal was missing? Was that what the thief had taken? Would Staveley have put the deciphered code in there? Didn’t seem like a likely place, but then again, Staveley didn’t seem like a likely operative. Even so, Blackaby, the eternal fool that he was, thought Marc had it? “I can’t imagine what led you to believe I was in possession of the man’s journal, but you are, again, quite mistaken.”

  “Am I?” Blackaby narrowed his dark eyes on Marc. “Your butler just recently began working for the lady, didn’t he?”

  So now Simmons was the thief? That was Blackaby’s working theory? The man was a damned idiot. He always had been. It was no wonder crime ran rampant in London. “He’s not my butler any longer—”

  “You were spotted in her mews this morning. And you are obsessed with the lady if all the gossip columns are to be believed. And—”

  “The gossip columns?” Marc spat. Who the devil had spotted him that morning? That was unfortunate, but he couldn’t focus on that at the moment. Doing so would only embolden the irritating Runner. So it was best to focus on the rest of his nonsense. “Surprised you have time to read such drivel with crime on the rise, Blackaby.” He shook his head in annoyance. “Perhaps her ladyship has misplaced the item. Or forgot where she saw it last. But I have not taken it, nor would I have any interest in Staveley’s inner thoughts or musings.” And he wouldn’t. In all honesty, there couldn’t be anything less interesting in the world. Besides, any thought Staveley might have ever had about Caroline would not be something Marc would care to read, not in this lifetime nor in the next. “You know, I’m beginning to think that dagger-throwing fellow in Covent Garden has the right idea about dealing with the criminal element in this city if you represent our best and brightest.”

  Then after a dismissive once over, Marc turned on his heel and started again for Piccadilly.

  He only got a few feet further before Blackaby called after him, “I have my eye on you, Haversham.”

  Which was a bloody nuisance. Marc waved his hand in the air to dismiss the Runner’s remark. Damned Blackaby. It had taken quite some time for the man to leave him alone after Major Moore’s shooting. In the end, he had to enlist the help of Lieutenant Avery in that regard. But that tactic wouldn’t work a second time, unfortunately.

  As it happened, Marc was correct about the ease of hailing a hack on Piccadilly and boarded a hired conveyance immediately. “The Strand,” he told the driver. “The Sugar Plum Shoppe, if you know it.”

  “Right away, sir.” The driver smiled a toothless grin and Marc thought it quite likely the man did know the shoppe in question.

  Chapter 7

  As they traveled over the Westminster Bridge, Rachel glanced southward out of the carriage window and a forlorn sigh escaped her. “Kitty and Kurt are going to Vauxhall tonight.”

 
; Caroline pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off another headache. “Perhaps we’ll go later this week.” Which wouldn’t be the same as attending with Kitty, much to Caroline’s relief even if it was to Rachel’s chagrin.

  “I dare say that shan’t be as much fun,” her daughter muttered.

  “Can we get a supper box?” Emma asked anxiously. “That would be grand.”

  “I think that can be arranged.” Caroline smiled at her youngest child then glanced at her oldest. “And I shall be as fun as I am able, Rachel.”

  Walters drew the carriage to a stop in front of Astley’s Amphitheater and then the footman quickly lowered the steps for Caroline and the girls to alight from the coach.

  She thanked her footman as she reached for Emma’s hand, linking her other arm with Rachel’s. Then she whispered in her oldest daughter’s ear, “Let’s do have a good time this evening, all right?”

  Rachel smiled, though it seemed a bit forced, then she nodded in reluctant agreement.

  The three of them navigated their way through the crowd and into the main entrance. There was indeed a crush that evening, teams of people crowding the amphitheater, but Caroline easily spotted the box Alex had reserved for their little party down in the front, in the middle of the arena.

  Olivia’s eight year old step-daughter Poppy waved her hand in the air to catch their attention and Emma nearly squealed as she bounced on her toes. She let go of Caroline’s hand and dashed down to the box, leaving Caroline and Rachel to trail after her. It was so good to see Emma excited about something, as she’d been so miserable at Benton Park the last several months.

  Rachel shook her head. “Someday she’ll have decorum, I’m sure.”

  Caroline squeezed her oldest daughter’s arm. “You were much the same way at her age, my darling.”

  The two of them made their way, slower than Emma had done, through the crowd and down to the Kelfield box where Alex and Livvie were awaiting them.