Too Dangerous For a Lady (31 page)

She looked out again at the garden. It was still deserted, for now a light rain fell through dying lamplight.

She remembered the grief she'd felt out there. It had been overwhelmed by joy, but she never wanted to feel the same pain. He must live and her drawing could help. She must find the ability to create a recognizable likeness of the brutish Boothroyd.

*   *   *

Seth Boothroyd kept watch outside the Parsifal Street building, untroubled by mizzling rain, or by not knowing what Beau Braydon looked like. He would find a way to avenge Nathan, struck from behind, with no chance to fight.

Men began to return from their evenings in hackneys and carriages, hurrying into the building beneath umbrellas. He caught scraps of conversation, but none of interest until a fancy carriage halted and two dandies climbed down,
shielded from the rain by a large umbrella held by a liveried footman.

“There,” one said. “Safe and sound.”

“You're not inside yet,” the other said.

“A rifle from a distance, Braydon? In this light?”

The men went inside. The footman closed his umbrella and took his perch on the back of the carriage, and it went off down the street.

So that had been Braydon. Fine dark clothing and natty hat, worn at a good angle. Not sure about hair color.

Nathan would have liked that hat. Nathan knew how to dress. He bought my clothes, made sure I wore them right. Nothing's the same without him. Nothing will ever be the same without him.

Slowly, a new thought came to him.

Bloody Ned Granger had killed Nathan. Nathan had gone after him, and Nathan was dead. That other man had sounded a lot like Ned Granger. Hadn't looked like him, but sounded like him.

He set off back to Great Peter Street. Mrs. Waite would know what to do.

T
he next morning Hermione breakfasted in her room, then went to see Edgar, hoping no sign of her adventures showed.

He was sitting up in his chair, watching the square. She thought he might be watching for Grammaticus, but then remembered they'd decided not to tell him in case the man was clearly a fraud. Was that fair, though? She hated being treated like a foolish female, but she was treating Edgar like a foolish old man.

She sat beside him. “We've found Dr. Grammaticus.”

He turned sharply, eyes bright. “He's coming here?”

“I hope so. He's living in Tunbridge Wells. He may have no true cure to offer, Edgar.”

“I know that. I've always known that. But it'll be good to try. Good to be doing something.”

“I hope his cure works quickly, then, so you can dance at my wedding.”

“Wedding? To whom?” But then he said, “
Quickly?
Why the hurry? Wait a moment. Yesterday you were in a state because the man you loved was dead!”

“Then I found he wasn't. He's Lord Faringay and we're to marry.”

His brows met in anxiety. “You've never mentioned anyone called Faringay. Someone asked about a Granger. What have you been up to, girl? Are you being duped?”

“Don't get in a state. Faringay and I met five years ago, then again recently, and found we love each other.”

“So who was the dead man? And who's Granger? You're spinning me a tarradiddle, girl.”

“I'm not a girl!” She reined in her temper. “Very well. Here's the story in brief. I met Faringay at a ball five years ago. He was a lieutenant in the army then, and soon left for the war. We lost touch, but met again in Lancashire on my journey to you.” She skipped the bit about his stealing into her room. “By then he was using the name Ned Granger and engaged in secret work for the Home Office, though I didn't know it.” Perhaps she'd leave out the letter and abduction, too. “For that reason, we didn't have many opportunities to meet, but I hoped to encounter him in London, which I have.”

“So what's this business about him being dead?”

“Ned Granger had taken a position in a group of dangerous revolutionaries, but he was discovered, so the Home Office staged his death and Faringay took up his real identity. He'd assumed a scruffy appearance as Granger, but he's now very neat and stylish.”

“He played this trick without telling you?”

“He didn't know,” Hermione said quickly, but really, she was exasperated by Edgar's trying to rule her life.

“I knew you were caught up in something dangerous,” he said, scowling. “The less you have to do with Faringay, the better.”

“I love him, Edgar, and I have for years.”

“Love. More dangerous than poison, that is. I've known people die for love, and not in a swooning sort of way. But there's no cure for that ailment, is there?”

“I fear not.”

“You're marrying quickly. Why?” Hermione felt herself go red. “Never mind. I know how young blood runs hot and sense flies up the chimney, but he'd better do right by you.”

“He will.”

“Is he worthy of you, Hermione?” he asked, in a gentler way. “You're a grand lass and marriage is for life.”

This sort of protectiveness she could welcome. She took his hand. “He's a grand lad, and I want him for life. Edgar, will you give me away?”

Perhaps red showed in his grayish cheeks. “Your brother-in-law would be more suitable.”

“He's not my family and I don't want to delay, not even for days. I can't explain, but I can't.”

“All these things you can't explain,” he muttered. “And you haven't thought. I can't walk you down an aisle.”

“Very well. We'll marry here. In your room. A special license permits that.”

“Are you sure? No church? No people gathered outside to see the bride?”

“I'm sure.”

“Then I will, and gladly. Annie'll be pleased. You'll need your dowry.”

“There's no hurry. He has adequate money.”

“All the same. I had my banker over here yesterday and I've set it in hand. You'll need some extra for bride clothes and all such stuff. I have some cash to hand.”

“There's no time for that and I have Beth's finery. But thank you.” She kissed his cheek. It wasn't as gray as it had been when she'd first seen him, but she'd have kissed him anyway. “Your gift of money will mean a great deal to Polly.”

He shrugged that away and said, “Settlements. You'll have good settlements to secure your future. I'll have my solicitor back here immediately. Some of my money'll be put in trust for you. And your Faringay will provide generous pin money.”

“You're acting like a father, Edgar.”

He pouted. “If I'm to give you to him, I'll see it's done right.”

“You are very dear to me, Edgar. Truly.”

He wiped his eyes. “And you to me. Be happy. And be safe! You've still the kris on you?”

She took it out of her pocket to show him. “But I'm in no danger here.”

“Keep it on you. Like I told you, the worst danger sends no heralds. I wish I weren't so damned feeble!”

She squeezed his hand. “Try not to worry. I'll be careful at all times. Now, we're to go to church, and afterward I'm supposed to attempt a drawing.”

“A drawing? Of whom?”

“A man I saw in Warrington. The one who was pursuing Thayne.”

“Thayne, Granger, Faringay. What honest man has so many names?”

She chuckled. “Most peers have both title and surname.”

“And how many of them are honest?”

She laughed again and went to dress for church.

She walked to a nearby church with the Ardens and some of their household. When she returned, she heard Thayne waited in the library. Never had anyone shed outdoor clothing so quickly, but still by the time she joined him, Arden was there, and also an elegant, fine-boned man who was introduced as Braydon. Another lean, but tougher, man was Sir George Hawkinville at last.

“Of Peel Street,” she said when they were introduced.

He inclined his head. “I regret your involvement, Lady Hermione, but your effort today could be crucial. Shame most men aren't taught drawing skills.”

“My lessons can only take me so far, Sir George, but I'll do my best.”

Braydon said, “My gift is memory, Lady Hermione. I hope to be able to help that way.”

She smiled, but then became aware of a tension in the air. “What's happened?”

“No matter,” Hawkinville said, but Thayne answered her.

“Last evening a gentleman in the government received an oilcloth package at home, which he opened himself, in private because it was perfumed with violet. He thought that indicated that it was from a lady of his acquaintance. Inside he found a letter, also perfumed, to such an extent that it was damp. He hid it in a locked box in his bedroom until he could attempt to read it. This morning, he was woken by an explosion. It was fierce enough to break the lock and fling the lid back so that it broke. The box burst into flames, but they were extinguished, so there was no disaster. But that is the second attempt.”

Thayne hadn't told her there'd been one earlier. “Surely now everyone will know about the damp letters,” she said.

“Given the involvement of servants in this case, it can't be kept quiet, but what if they send a package out of town, or to a military barracks? There's more. There was an explosion at the Customs House last night, apparently caused by gas. There's no evidence of outside interference, but we have to wonder. We have to stop Solange now.”

“Yes, of course.”

A small easel had been set up on the library table, with paper ready, and pencils. Hermione sat before it and picked up a pencil. This was important and, above all, key to Thayne's safety, so she must create a good likeness, but when everyone gathered behind her, it didn't help her nerves. She tried to summon an image of the man who'd snatched her, but saw only implacable eyes and terror. Instead, she turned her memory back to that encounter at the Lamb and found she could remember him quite well.

“Square,” she said, glancing behind at Thayne. “I remember thinking that. That he had a square head on square shoulders.”

“Yes, that's right.”

She lightly drew that, then began to sketch eyes into the
square head. It wasn't right, and she remembered the shrill voice of Miss Chandler, their long-suffering governess. “The eyes are in the
middle
of the face, Lady Hermione, not toward the top!” Miss Chandler had drawn a line across the middle of the oval of a head. “Draw the eyes
there
.”

Hermione lightly drew a line across the middle of the square. It looked far too low, but Miss Chandler's way had worked, so she drew two ovals along the line.

“Not so excessively close together,” Thayne said, leaning forward over her right shoulder. His closeness didn't help her concentration, but otherwise it was magical. And his comment was helpful. She'd made the same mistake in that long-ago drawing. “Put the nose in first,” Miss Chandler had commanded.

“His nose?” she asked Thayne. “I think it was quite broad.”

“That's right.” Thayne's voice, close by her ear. His breath against her cheek. His warmth and smell surrounding her. She pulled herself together and sketched in a broad nose, remembering rather flaring nostrils. Then she corrected the ovals at a better distance.

“Low forehead,” Braydon said.

“He was wearing a hat,” she remembered. “Quite a smart one.”

She sketched in a tall beaver hat with a curly brim. Things were easy. It was faces she found hard. “Is that beginning to resemble him?”

Thayne said, “Yes. But it's not distinctive enough.”

“His mouth,” she said. “There was something odd about it. Something frightening.”

“Pointed canine teeth,” Braydon said. “Filed that way, I assume.”

“That's right!” She drew an open mouth so the teeth showed.

It looked ridiculous.

She tossed her pencil down. “That doesn't even look human!”

“It's certainly not right,” Thayne admitted, “but Nathan wouldn't have been walking around showing his teeth, and the main thing is that Seth sees the poster and thinks it might be his brother. Draw him with mouth closed. We can put the filed teeth in the description. It should have been in the earlier one.”

“Mea culpa,” Braydon said.

There was a piece of rubber to use to correct errors, but it left a smudge. She drew a closed mouth over it, unhappy with the result. She did an easier part and added a high collar and a wide neckcloth.

Braydon said, “He was wearing a gold pin in it. A simple circle.”

She added that. Dark jacket. She sat back to consider it. “It's still not right.”

Braydon said, “His head wasn't completely square. It curved down to the chin.”

Hermione corrected that, then said, “Thick neck! I remember how thick it was. And broad, heavy shoulders. Like a bull.” She roughly widened neck and shoulders to what seemed an extreme amount, but it did convey the man.

“Might that be good enough?”

“It might,” Thayne said, “but there's something else.”

“About the ears?”

“Long whiskers,” Braydon said. “Side wings. Dark and dense down to the corner of the jaw.”

“Yes!” Hermione said, and drew them in. “That really might be recognizable.” She looked up to Thayne for confirmation.

Smiling, he kissed her. “It is.”

She was blushing again, but she'd happily settle to more kisses if not for her audience. And if Thayne weren't already studying the drawing again.

“If there weren't so many barbers in London, that might
be a line of enquiry. I'm sure both Boothroyds had to shave frequently to keep up their natty appearance, but I never knew their intimate details, thank God.”

“Hair in the nostrils, too,” Braydon said.

Hermione added them. “It's him. It would never be accepted for the Royal Academy, but I do believe it's recognizable.”

Thayne swept her up and spun her around.

Hawkinville took the drawing. “I'll have this prepared for printing along with the details of his appearance. You'd best come with me, Braydon.”

Braydon grimaced humorously at them before following orders.

Hermione looked up at Thayne. “When the Boothroyd man is found, will you go in pursuit?” She knew the answer. He'd feel honor-bound to.

But he said, “Not unless I'm essential. I want to be in at the end, but I need to marry you before taking unnecessary risks.”

“That could tempt me to delay the wedding. No, I won't. I wouldn't try to tie you that way.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “But in other ways?”

“Don't,” she murmured, aware of the Ardens still in the room.

“But I love to make you blush.”

“And I prefer to be decent. In public, at least.”

He grinned. “Such promise for privacy.”

They might have flirted on if a servant hadn't entered with a card to present to Arden. Arden brought it to Hermione. “A gentleman to see you. The Marquess of Carsheld.”

“Porteous!”

“You don't have to see him if you don't want to,” Thayne said.

“I'm not alarmed, only surprised. He must have learned I'm in Town. Beth, will you come with me?”

Beth raised her brows, but came as chaperone. Porteous had been taken to the drawing room and was standing, hands clasped behind him, looking out of a window. He turned at their entry with a weighty expression.

“Cousin Hermione. I came as soon as I heard.”

“Heard what?” Hermione asked, but then realized that talk of her precipitous entry to the ballroom last night must be whirling around Town. “Oh. It was a misunderstanding, Cousin. All is well now.”