Lady Thief (9 page)

After Rivenhall, Jenny stopped trying to remember the name of every gentleman who swept her across the floor. She could see that Meg, dancing on the other side of the room, was enjoying herself; that was all that mattered.

Two hours later, Jenny whirled in the arms of yet another town buck and felt certain that her face would crack if she smiled at one more inane remark. It wasn’t that she was not enjoying herself—quite the contrary, in fact. Observing the antics of polite society was causing her to enjoy herself immensely.

The simpering ladies and gallant gentlemen appeared to be the very souls of propriety, but Jenny had noticed several incidents that did not quite fit the general air of respectability.

Lady Darlington, for instance, slipping discreetly from the rooms, to be followed a few moments later by Lord Templeton. Lord Darlington did not appear to notice. Neither did Lady Templeton.

Then there was the infamous Viscount Salcombe, who had to be escorted (discreetly, of course) from the rooms after having pugnaciously challenged at least three other gentlemen to duels. (They refused. No one in his right mind would accept a challenge from Salcombe, who was accounted the best shot in England and hot-tempered into the bargain.)

No—society in itself was quite fascinating. If only the young gentlemen of London had something to speak of aside from empty compliments and useless platitudes. Jenny smiled up at her partner in response to another compliment (something about how her eyes were like yellow diamonds), and decided that she would like nothing better than to hold a quiet conversation with a sensible man.

The dance finally ended, and Jenny managed to stifle what would have been an audible sigh of relief. As soon as her partner led her off the floor, she was immediately surrounded by a group of eager and amorous young men.

Jenny pasted a smile on her face and listened rather wearily as the young men bantered back and forth between themselves about who was to have the next dance with her. As she attempted to stifle another sigh, her eyes met those of a gentleman standing some feet away.

The gentleman’s cool gray eyes were amused, and Jenny realized that he had read her thoughts with uncanny accuracy. Her rather strained smile became completely natural, and her golden eyes gleamed with amusement. Immediately, the gentleman began to make his way toward her.

The group around Jenny fell strangely silent when the gentleman approached, and she wondered why. He was neatly dressed, and there was an air of dignity about him, but he did not look very important. He looked like a gentleman—nothing more. Or so she thought.

The gentleman stopped before her. In a quiet, cultured voice, he said, “Miss Courtenay, if you will allow me to present myself?”

Intrigued, Jenny nodded.

“George Brummell, ma’am, at your service.”

Jenny extended her hand, lifting an eyebrow as she did so. “Beau Brummell?” There was a thread of amusement in her voice.

He bowed low over her hand, a responsive twinkle in his intelligent eyes. “Beau Brummell.”

Gravely, Jenny said, “Mr. Brummell, I cannot tell you how delighted I am to meet you.”

“Indeed? Why ‘delighted,’ Miss Courtenay?”

“Because,” she replied solemnly, “any man who has the power to hold all of London society beneath his very thumb commands my greatest admiration.”

The Beau began to chuckle. “Miss Courtenay—how long have you been in London?”

Jenny smiled demurely. “Long enough.”

“I can see that.” He gestured toward a small bench.

“Shall we sit down?”

Jenny nodded and sank down gracefully on the bench, amused to see that all of her eager swains had melted away.

Brummell sat down beside her. “If you will allow me to say so, Miss Courtenay, it appears that you—not I—have all of London society, if not beneath your thumb, then certainly at your feet.”

She smiled easily. “Ah, but
my
fame is fleeting. There will always be another pretty face—or fat pocketbook—to come along and stir the town’s interest. But there will never be another Brummell.”

The Beau inclined his head slightly at the tribute. “I never contradict a lady,” he responded smoothly.

Jenny, perfectly aware that they were the cynosure of all eyes, asked gravely, “Are you being so obliging as to bring me into fashion, Mr. Brummell?”

With equal gravity, the Beau replied, “I believe that to be an unnecessary exercise, Miss Courtenay. Did I not remark that you had all of London at your feet?”

She laughed, and they began to talk as if they had known one another for years. The watching eyes of the
ton
were pleased or irritated, depending on their various attitudes (and whether or not they had daughters of marriageable age), to see that Jennifer Courtenay had apparently captured another heart.

Brummell could have disabused them of that particular notion had he cared one jot what they thought. But since he did not, he had no intention of explaining that his interest in Jennifer Courtenay stemmed from the intelligence he had seen in her eyes. He was utterly weary of simpering misses, and found Jenny’s entertaining manners a refreshing change.

Something else about Jenny attracted the Beau’s interest. There were shadows behind the laughter in her eyes, and Brummell sensed that this beautiful young lady had a great deal more than parties and suitors on her mind. He meant to discover her secret.

Jenny was never afterwards able to recall exactly what Brummell said. She only caught a phrase. But it was enough. Giving a slight start of surprise, she said, “I beg your pardon?”

“The Cat.” Brummell gave her a thoughtful look. “She’s a female footpad. Surely you’ve heard of her?”

Jenny had recovered her composure. “Oh—yes, of course. I believe I have heard something about her since I came to London.”

“London has been talking of nothing else for more than a year. I am surprised you have only just heard of her.”

She managed a faint smile. “Well, Mr. Brummell, I
have
had other things to think about, you know. Parties, gowns, the theater—the sort of things every girl thinks of when she begins her first Season.”

Brummell smiled in response, and the conversation passed to other subjects. But the Beau wondered.

Chapter Nine

After her first visit to Almacks, Jenny felt confident that she would be able to deal successfully with any further references to the Cat. The first such occurrence was, after all, surely the most difficult. She congratulated herself for having dealt rather well with the situation, and devoutly trusted that she would not be shaken quite so badly the next time it occurred.

Unfortunately, her trust was slightly misplaced. It was the night of Lady Jersey’s party, and had Jenny but known what would happen, she would have pleaded a headache—or the pox—
anything
to avoid attending what she afterward described to herself as “that perfectly
dreadful
party.”

From the first moment of being greeted at the door by Lady Jersey, Jenny heard of nothing but the Cat. “Miss Courtenay—have you heard the latest? They are saying at the War Office that the Cat is not a thief after all. Only fancy—she is actually trying to catch traitors.”

Jenny blinked. “Indeed, my lady? I had not heard.”

“Well, you shall hear of nothing else tonight,” the lady promised merrily. “The entire
ton
is all agog with the news.”

To her considerable dismay, Jenny soon found that Lady Jersey had spoken no less than the truth. Lord Rivenhall, who was the first to ask for a dance, was also the first to broach the subject. “I say, Miss Courtenay, have you heard about the female footpad? Apparently she’s more than just a common thief; the War Office says that she’s trying to find traitors. Why do you think she’s doing that?”

“I cannot imagine,” Jenny responded rather hollowly. “Perhaps she simply dislikes the thought of anyone being traitorous to England.”

Rivenhall who, as his friends often reminded him, had a mind fit for cards and little else, subjected the matter to profound thought. “That could be it,” he conceded. “But it seems a dashed silly way to go about the thing. I mean—why does she rob coaches?”

“I am sure I cannot say,” Jenny responded.

The gambit failed. Rivenhall’s intellect was not powerful, but it was tenacious. The movements of the dance drew them apart just then, but as soon as they were facing one another again, he immediately resumed his examination of the Cat’s possible motivations. “Perhaps she knows of a particular traitor and is holding up coaches in hopes of finding him. Do you think that’s it, Miss Courtenay?”

Despairingly, Jenny wondered why Rivenhall’s wayward mind had latched onto the one possible explanation which was closer to the truth than anything else she had heard. In an effort to pry his mind away from a topic that was making her acutely uncomfortable, Jenny said reprovingly, “My lord, if you continue to go on about this—person, I shall begin to think that you have lost your heart to her.”

Perceiving that he had offended his fair companion, and realizing that he would whistle a fortune down the wind if he wasn’t careful, Rivenhall made haste to change the subject.

For the next ten minutes, Jenny was treated to a description of his estates which (though not overly large, of course) would be quite splendid if only a little money could be spent on them. Rivenhall then went on to explain why he could not, at the moment, spare the money. His excuses, though most entertaining, were highly improbable and contained less than an ounce of truth.

As soon as the dance had ended, Jenny hinted rather broadly that she was thirsty, and Rivenhall had the happy notion of procuring her a glass of lemonade.

Watching him stride through the crowded room, Jenny felt a sudden desire to develop a headache and go home. But that would never do. For one thing, Lady Jersey was one patroness it was wise not to offend. For another, she was also extremely difficult to deceive.

Jenny sighed and turned to find herself face-to-face with Lady Catherine. The lady’s kindly blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “I suppose you’ve heard about the Cat, Miss Courtenay?”

Jenny resisted the urge to sigh. “Why, yes, my lady.”

“I suppose everyone has by now. Well, all I can say is that the poor thing
must
have a reason for what she does—and if her reason is to search for traitors, I can only applaud her spirit. And she must have spirit, you know. Why, it would take a great deal of spirit just to climb up on that whacking great brute she rides, and never mind the rest.

“You—you’ve seen her, my lady?”

“Oh, no, but my husband was held up by her a while back, you know, and he told me all about it.”

“Indeed?” Jenny hoped desperately that she did not look as startled as she felt, and tried to remember when she had held up Lord Amber’s coach.

“Yes, indeed! He said that she was very polite and didn’t threaten him at all. She asked him very nicely if he would mind very much handing over his purse and jewelry, then thanked him, wished him good evening, and rode off. She rode a great black stallion with strange red eyes.”

“How—how terrible for him,” Jenny responded weakly.

“Oh, not really,” Lady Catherine said comfortably. “It was very exciting for Henry. Poor thing—he doesn’t get much excitement these days, you know. And he was very pleased when she returned his jewelry a few days later.” She smiled easily at Jenny, spotted an acquaintance across the room, and sailed off.

Jenny decided to find a nice quiet corner in which to hide until this wretched party was over. She was foiled in her desire, however, by Lord Buckham, who planted himself directly in her chosen path of retreat. “Miss Courtenay, have you heard about the Cat?”

Staring at his round, rather florid face and protuberant gray eyes, Jenny had an absurd desire to stand in the middle of the room and loudly announce that she was the Cat—just to shock them all into silence. She ruthlessly suppressed the urge. “Yes, my lord—I have heard.”

“Shocking thing! Very shocking! I must say it’s the outside of enough to have thieves doing the job that fine, upstanding citizens should take care of. It just won’t do—won’t do at all.”

Amused in spite of herself, Jenny said, “You do not feel, sir, that a thief should be doing Bow Street’s job? But what matters
who
does the job as long as it
is
done?”

The little man’s face grew even more red. “Well, of course it matters, Miss Courtenay. It matters very much. That’s why we pay taxes, after all. And they’re trying to turn this thief into some kind of heroine. All they can talk about—morning, noon, and night. Why, if they can only discover who she is, I daresay they’ll pin a medal on her.”

Intensely curious about his somewhat obscure references to “they,” Jenny said soothingly, “I am sure they would not dare, my lord.”

“Oh, wouldn’t they just!” he exclaimed bitterly. “It’s exactly the sort of thing they
would
do.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord—but just who are ‘they’?”

“The
ton
, girl, the
ton
! M’wife and all those other females. It’s a shame, that’s what it is! A shame!” He favored her with a brief nod and strode across the room to find a new audience for his views.

Jenny fixed her eyes on an unoccupied corner of the room, and firmly resolved that
nothing
was going to stop her from reaching it. She reckoned without Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch.

Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch was heartily disliked throughout the
ton
because of her sharp tongue, and only tolerated because of her husband’s money.

Jenny had already been exposed to the sharp side of Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch’s tongue—several times, in fact. Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch had disliked Jenny on sight. Jenny was a very beautiful young woman, and Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch had a daughter of marriageable age, a daughter who was too tall, too thin, and sallow-faced into the bargain. Mrs. Abercrombe-Finch did not like competition—especially when the competition looked like Jenny.