A Lady of Letters (11 page)

Augusta slowed her mount to a slow walk so that his horse could draw abreast of hers. It was still rather early and the park was nearly deserted, save for a few gentlemen letting loose with a good gallop on the other side of the Serpentine. "Well, I don't like it above three quarters, but I see no other way to proceed," she answered.

"I could go by meself," ventured big footman, who had replaced her usual groom this morning to ensure the opportunity for a most private conversation.

She eyed his broad shoulders and thick chest. "You would never fit through the opening I have in mind."

Jamison could think of no argument to that. "Sweet Jesus, if Mister Edwin were here, he would like as tan my hide fer allowing ye to think of—"

"Well he isn't and he can't," snapped Augusta. They rode on in silence for a few awkward moments. "Are you going to help me or not?"

His injured expression only deepened. "As if ye have to ask, Missy. Think I'd let ye hare off on this by yerself? Not bloody likely!"

"I knew I could count on you."

"Aye, ‘cause I'm the only one as daft as ye," he grumbled. "What ye need, young lady, is a husband to—"

"Oh, don't you start on that, too!" Under her breathe she added, "The way everyone goes on about it, one would think a female simply can't live without one. If they are so important, then why doesn't the good Lord just pop us out with one already legshackled on?"

Jamison ducked his head so she couldn't see the laughter creasing his leathered face.

She gave a sigh, then returned to the matter at hand. "It may take several days to discover what evening the gentleman is planning to be away from home. Then, we shall—"

The sound of an approaching rider caused her to fall silent. A large black stallion, his coat glistening from exertion, tossed his head in the air, clearly unhappy at being reined to a sedate pace.

"Good morning Miss Hadley." The Earl tipped his curly brimmed beaver hat in greeting.

"Good morning, Lord Sheffield," replied Augusta politely, determined for once not to be uncivil. "It is a pleasant morning for a ride, is it not?"

"Indeed."

"However it looks as though we might get a spot of rain in the afternoon."

He slanted a sideways look at her and chuckled. "It's devilish work, isn't it, trying to be polite on an empty stomach."

Augusta fought to control the twitch of her lips.

"You have an excellent seat," he said after a moment, taking obvious care to follow her lead in mouthing the standard platitudes, though there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I take it you enjoy riding?"

She nodded as she watched him control his high strung mount with casual ease. "You appear to be quite at home in the saddle as well, my lord, though it looks as if your horse is not best pleased at having his exercise curtailed."

A dark brow arched up. "Ah, a subtle hint that I have overstayed my welcome?"

Actually it hadn't been. Augusta looked a bit startled. "I—"

"A shame. We still haven't gotten around to discussing those books yet. But then again, perhaps we should actually get through one encounter without facing off with, say, lemonade at ten paces." He tipped his hat and gave the stallion his head.

Jamison eyed the bruising rider fast disappearing around a bend, then the young lady's face, where a stain of color was fast rising to her cheeks. His own brow arched ever so slightly, for in all his years with the family, he had never seen Augusta affected in the least by any male presence. "Hmmm."

Augusta jerked her head around. "What?"

The big footman quickly schooled his features into a bland expression. "Why, nothing." He cleared his throat. "And who might that gentleman be?"

There was a moment of ominous silence. "That, Jamison, is the Earl of Sheffield—a gentleman more irritating and insufferable than most." With that, she urged her mount into a rousing gallop, making certain to head in the opposite direction of the black stallion.

The scowl on her face only deepened on arriving home and finding no letter addressed in the bold, familiar script awaiting her on the silver tray by the front door. She took up the freshly ironed newspaper and made due with perusing the latest news from the Peninsula while picking at her toast. The pages were turned in a leisurely manner when suddenly there was a choking sound.

"Gus!" cried Marianne in alarm as she entered the breakfast room. "Good heavens, are you alright? Shall I summon Tompkins to give you a thump on the back?"

Augusta's face, more purple from anger than from any danger of expiring on the spot, appeared from behind the newsprint. "He's done it again!"

"Who has done what?"

She swallowed hard. Marianne knew that she penned anonymous essays for Pritchard, but no one, not even her sister, had any idea that she and the controversial Firebrand were one in the same. And it was left best that way. "No need to call for assistance," she muttered. "The only thing stuck in my throat is the fact that the Earl of Sheffield has made another speech in Parliament on child labor. You know it is an issue I have a great interest in, and I cannot help but wonder why he has chosen that, of all topics, to make sport of. "

Marianne sat down. "May I see what you were reading?"

Augusta passed her the offending page and fell to finishing her cup of tea, unmindful of the fact that it was now barely lukewarm.

After several minutes, her sister looked up in consternation "Why, it does not appear as if he is being anything but sincere. After all, why would he subject himself to such scathing criticism if he did not believe in what he was saying?" She looked down again at the printed column. "You have to admit the reaction of his peers has hardly been encouraging, to say the least."

"Hmmmph."

"And he voices a number of the same opinions that you yourself have stated."

Augusta's cup came down rather hard on her saucer. "I sincerely doubt the Earl and I agree on... anything."

"Well, it also seems that he has been reading the pamphlets of Firebrand. Surely you have no complaint with that man's ideas or commitment, since he is accorded to be the most articulate and provocative reformer in all of London."

Augusta managed not to fall into a paroxysm of coughing.

"And don't tell me you haven't read them, for I'd never believe you. Anyway, I've seen them hidden under the papers on your desk. All of them. Now I cannot claim to follow all the nuances of his arguments, for that takes someone with a sharp mind like yours, Gus. But I do understand enough to know he is a very gifted thinker." She lowered her voice. "Pray, just make sure Mama never hears that either of us has read such unsuitable material for innocent females else she'll take to her bed for a week to recover from the shock."

"You can be sure I shall never mention that name," replied Augusta faintly.

To her great relief, the subject was put to rest by the entrance of said parent, and the rest of the breakfast time was spent in going over the latest invitations and obligations for the coming week. For once, Augusta made no show of dismay at hearing the list of routs and balls she was expected to attend with her sister. How better to discover just what evening a certain lord might be absent from his townhouse?

"Are you sure I cannot fetch you anything else? A cup of chamomile tea? A cold compress?"

Augusta pulled the coverlet even higher up over her chin. "No, nothing," she croaked. "This abominable headache will no doubt disappear if I merely lie still for a time."

Marianne bit her lip as she peered into the darkened bedchamber, the heavy silk of her elegant ball gown rustling against the half closed door. "I hate to leave you alone in such distress. After all, you are never—"

"Don't be a peagoose. Peace and quiet is just what I need. Go on and enjoy the evening. I shall be just fine."

"Well if you are sure," said her sister hesitantly. "I will look in on you when I return home."

"No! That is, I should prefer you didn't chance waking me. A restful night will have me back on my feet again by morning, I promise."

"Very well. Good night then. I shall leave word downstairs that you are not to be disturbed." Marianne pulled the door shut very carefully and tiptoed down the hall.

As soon as she heard the carriage conveying her sister and her mother to the Rockham's ball pull away from the townhouse, Augusta threw off the covers and bounded to her feet. Her movements were even quicker than usual, due to the fact that she was unfettered by layers of muslin and petticoats, but rather dressed in a simple cambric shirt and rather snug dark pantaloons purloined from an old trunk of her brother's belongings tucked away in the attic. Over this ensemble she draped a heavy black clock, then added a nondescript cap that served to hide her mass of curls. After a moment of hesitation, she rummaged in her drawer and took out a pair of black kid gloves. They made a nice touch, she thought. She added a few hairpins to her pocket, then slipped quietly out of her bedchamber and made her way down the back stairs to the scullery door.

Jamison regarded the shrouded figure in front of him with a baleful look. "Mind you, this is a good deal more serious than filching apples from Squire Havelock's orchards," he grumbled. "If things go amiss, it will be a hell of a lot more difficult fer me to haul ye out of the suds."

"Oh come on, don't turn missus on me now. Where is your spirit of adventure?"

"It must have fallen out of me cockloft, along with what little brains I used te possess."

Augusta put her hands on her hips and fixed him with an indignant glare.

"Awright, awright," he muttered. "If ye insist on going through with this, let's get on with it."

"You've mapped the quickest way through the alleys?"

"Aye, and made sure that the gate to the garden is unlocked. The watch passes by every half hour, so you've got to be in and out quickly. You are sure you can get the window open?"

She pulled the thin folding knife from her sleeve. "Don't worry. Edwin taught me how to work a latch."

"And yer sure the gentleman will not be at home?"

"Yes. I've told you, I heard him say just last night he wouldn't miss the mill taking place somewhere out past Houndslow Heath for anything in the world. And you know gentlemen and prizefights—they will all be drinking well into the next morning. It would be a wonder if any of them can find his hand in front of his face, let alone his carriage to return back to town before this time tomorrow."

Her mouth tugged down at the corners as the thought of who else would undoubtedly be joining in the betting and carousing came to mind. She shook her head slightly to banish the image of those blue eyes and chiseled lips, both twitching with dry amusement as she had seen them last. But this was hardly the time to be thinking of such things, she cajoled herself.