Page 29 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Uncle Matthew made a derisive sound. “Suddenly you are considering others besides yourself? I should like to believe I have had some positive effect on you, but I suspect this unexpected thoughtfulness has its seed in a desire for social advancement, since Sir William Luttrow is well-respected in government circles, and Lady Ariadne is the daughter of an earl.”

Noelle mounted Snowflake without saying a word. If she could control her temper only a few seconds more, Lucretia might have a morning free of his scolds.

“We must not be backward in any attention to Lady Ariadne,” Uncle Matthew said, “but if she has heard of your abandoned behavior last night, she will not wish to let you near her children. I can only hope that you do not find her door closed to you today.”

Not a likely reaction from the most notable gossip in the county. With difficulty, Noelle continued to keep her mouth shut.

“Why are you wearing that old bonnet?” he demanded. “Think of your station in life. It’s most unbecoming a baroness.”

“I’m not a baroness yet.” Noelle set off down the drive at a ladylike amble, urging Snowflake to a canter the moment she was out of Sir Matthew’s sight. The quickest route to Sir William Luttrow’s estate lay across Richard Boltwood’s land. The day was cool and bright, and a brisk wind had blown away the remnants of last night’s clouds. It coaxed the last few leaves off the trees and tugged at Noelle’s bonnet.

She was early for the girls’ lesson, fretting about the brandy, worried sick about Johnny Magee, and meanwhile Richard was probably still asleep. She struggled with an almost overmastering urge to detour to his house, pound on the door, and demand that he do something, and do it now. But she’d have to get past the servants, and she’d have to brave his mother, and she couldn’t think of any excuse to plead except being madly in love. If she allowed herself to act so idiotically, he’d probably take it as encouragement. He’d think she couldn’t stay away.

Like the moon controlling the tides, the house that held Richard exerted its pull, and Noelle fought it valiantly until she reached the top of the hill, past which lay the long slope toward the stream that divided Richard’s and Sir William’s estates. If she hadn’t been nursing Snowflake up the rise, she might not have noticed the exciseman moving stealthily through the trees that bordered the stream. She might not have drawn back before he saw her.

And she might not have wheeled Snowflake and raced her pell-mell toward Boltwood Manor.

~ ~ ~

In spite of its travels through several layers of servants, the story of the proceedings at the Pig in a Poke had reached Lady Boltwood more or less intact. Richard practiced his newly-acquired polite and proper behavior while his mother had her say.

“You behaved with astonishing crudity last night, according to the report I received. It’s one thing to behave improperly with one of your doxies—not that I approve of debauchery, mind you, but I assume that crude behavior is one of the hazards, or perhaps benefits of their profession, depending on how one sees such things . . . Where was I?”

“At doxies and debauchery, love. But I don’t have any doxies, and although I may have had a mistress or two, it’s hardly fair to call me debauched.”

Holmes came in with the shaving water, followed by Betsy with a tray bearing a silver coffee pot and two cups. He said, “I beg your pardon, my lord, my lady. If this is an inconvenient moment—”

“Coffee!” Richard cried. “Hail, fair Betsy, succorer of the sleepless!” The maid tittered and dumped the tray on the small table beside Lady Boltwood.

“Not inconvenient at all,” Richard said. “Time is of the essence. Tell me, Holmes, would you say I was debauched?”

Lady Boltwood hurriedly waved Betsy from the room.

When she had gone, Holmes said, “I would not so demean myself, my lord.”

“I am the one to be demeaned by such a statement, Holmes. What about it?”

Holmes gave Richard a look compounded of annoyance and disapproval.

“Good Lord, man, you’ve been in my employ long enough. My mother isn’t squeamish. Speak your mind!”

Holmes prepared the razor. “Your lordship had a mistress whilst in Amsterdam. However, although I cannot say I approved, I would not consider that debauchery.”

“Not since arriving in London?” Lady Boltwood stirred sugar into a cup of coffee and held it out to Richard.

“Not that I am aware, my lady.”

“Then what was your father complaining about, Richard? For he indicated that you had led a dreadful life since leaving Sussex. That you indulged in flagrantly disgraceful behavior, which I do not wish to discuss.”

“That’s nonsense.” Why the devil would the old man say any such thing?

“Most embarrassing, since he grumbled about you to everyone for miles around, and worse as the months passed. Seemingly, age and illness stripped him of all discretion.”

Richard suppressed a snarl. It seemed he had to counteract more accusations than brute, bully, and so on. “And truthfulness.”

“I daresay. However, improvement in one aspect of your behavior does not excuse deterioration in another. Holmes, I am about to give his lordship a severe scold. I suggest you leave the room.”

Richard shook his head. “I need to be shaved. I have a busy day ahead.”