Stephanie Laurens - A Lady of His Own

The newcomers saw her and Nicholas; the trio turned and came up the steps.

“Your man at the Abbey told us you’d left instructions for all communications from London to be forwarded here—we decided, in the circumstances, we qualified.” The taller of the two, a few inches shorter than Charles, smiled winningly at Penny as the three men stepped onto the porch. With fairish, wavy brown hair and hazel eyes, his clear-cut features set in an amiable expression, he was startlingly handsome in a quintessentially English way; he bowed gracefully to her. “Jack Warnefleet.” His eyes twinkled as he straightened. “Lady Penelope Selborne, I presume?”

“Indeed.” She smiled and shook his hand.

“Lord Warnefleet of Minchinbury,” Charles clarified, halting beside him. “And this—”

The second gentleman smiled and reached for her hand. “Gervase Tregarth.”

“Earl of Crowhurst,” Charles added.

Surrendering her hand, Penny instantly placed Tregarth as a fellow Cornishman; he had the typical long planes to his face, the long limbs, and the short, curly hair often found on denizens of the region close to Land’s End. His hair was a soft mousy brown, his eyes an amber shade of hazel, paler in color than Jack Warnefleet’s, also sharper.

Smiling in return, she shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you both to Wallingham Hall.”

They turned to Nicholas; Charles performed the introductions. Standing back, Penny seized the moment to examine Dalziel’s reinforcements.

They were an interesting pair, tall, well proportioned, attractive; presumably, like Charles, they possessed other talents, too. Physically Charles was the most flamboyant of the trio, the one who caught the eye. Jack Warnefleet wasn’t far behind him in that, albeit in very different style, yet watching him greet Nicholas with genial bonhomie, she wondered how much of his lazy, laughing amiability was a mask. Like Charles, she would swear his cheeriness was a facade and, behind it, he was a man with secrets.

As for Gervase Tregarth, his was a quieter, more austere handsomeness. He was altogether quieter; a quality of stillness hung about him that even the fluid grace with which he moved did not disturb. It occurred to her that like the others, he possessed a reserve, a distance he preserved from the world, but in his case, it was part of the cloak he habitually wore.

They were different, yet in many ways alike.

The introductions and exchanges complete, she moved forward to lead them into the house. “I’ll have rooms prepared for you.” She glanced back, met their eyes. “Your luggage?”

Jack looked at Charles. “We weren’t sure of your dispositions—we left our things at the Abbey.”

“I’ll have them brought here.” Charles waved them on.

Penny led them into the library. Crossing to the bellpull, she tugged, then moved to sink down on the chaise. The men gathered chairs about the fireplace, leaving the chaise to her and Charles. When they sat, she asked, “Tea and crumpets, or bread, cheese, and ale?”

They all opted for the cheese and ale. Guessing Jack and Gervase hadn’t eaten since morning, when Norris appeared, she ordered a substantial tray. Charles asked for the luggage left at the Abbey to be fetched.

“So,” Jack said as Norris departed, “what’s been going on down here?”

“All Dalziel told us,” Gervase said, “was that you’d fallen feetfirst into murder and mayhem, and could probably use a little support.”

“Murder certainly,” Charles said. “As for mayhem, that might yet come.” He proceeded to outline events as they’d unfolded, digressing to describe the Selbornes’ wild game. Like Charles, Jack and Gervase were intrigued; they, too, expressed ardent interest in meeting Nicholas’s incorrigible sire.

By the time Charles brought them up to date, the bread, cheese, and ale Norris had quietly supplied had been devoured. Even Nicholas had partaken. Penny thought he looked considerably better.

“The one thing I really don’t like is that business of him smashing the display cases.” Gervase looked at Nicholas. “You said he sounded enraged?”

Nicholas nodded. “He was swearing, and that was before he saw me.”

“Not the usual coolness one associates with a professional.” Jack looked at Charles.

Tight-lipped, Charles nodded; Penny was instantly certain the point had occurred to him previously, but he hadn’t deigned to mention it. “It fits with him being younger than we are, less experienced. Killing the maid, for instance, was an unnecessary act that called attention to his presence and alarmed and alerted the staff of the very house he needed to enter. He didn’t need to do it, but he did.”

“He’s vain,” Jack concluded. “He’s also a bully, thinking to frighten people, and sure he’ll get away with anything.”

“That sounds right,” Gervase said. “Which is where we step in to teach him otherwise.”

Charles and Jack murmured agreement.

After a moment, Gervase looked up; he raised his ale mug to Charles, Penny, and Nicholas. His smile dawning, he drawled, “We haven’t said so, but we’re deeply grateful to you for giving us a chance to quit London.”

Jack wholeheartedly agreed, and drank.

Eyes wide, Charles regarded them in mock-surprise. “I thought you both had plans?”

Jack and Gervase exchanged glances, then Gervase nodded. “We did.”

“Unfortunately,” Jack said, “the matchmaking mamas had even bigger plans.” He shuddered eloquently. “In reality we’re refugees seeking asylum.”

The day had flown; it was soon time to change for dinner. Penny had Norris show Jack and Gervase to their rooms, then headed for her chamber. Half an hour later, they fore-gathered in the drawing room, then went into the dining room. Taking the chair at one end of the table, she sat Gervase and Jack to either side of her and had them recount all they knew of the latest London events.

They proved excellent sources of information; like Charles, their powers of observation and recall were acute, even though it quickly became apparent they had little real interest in the entertainments of the ton. They’d expected to take an interest, or have such interest develop; instead, they’d been disappointed. The ton, even at its frenetic best, was not, she suspected, exciting enough—not at base real enough—to satisfy such men, not after their recent experiences.

She listened, encouraged them; Charles sat back, a smile playing about his lips, adding the occasional taunt or leading question. Nicholas watched, quietly amused; to Penny’s eyes, he was improving with every hour, although his wounds still clearly caused him pain.

Once the covers were removed, she remained while they passed the decanters, then at her suggestion they took their glasses and repaired to the drawing room to sit in comfort and talk. Inevitably, the discussion returned to the man they now referred to as “the French agent.”

“I agree it’s unwise to guess his identity when any day Dalziel will likely find enough to point an unerring finger at him.” Jack drained his glass, glanced at Gervase, then looked at Charles. “But can’t we work out some trap? One that will work regardless of which of the three he is?”

Charles leaned forward, his glass cradled between his hands. “Now you’re both here, that would be my choice. He doesn’t know you, or of you; there’s no reason he’ll know you’re here. Quite aside from any Selbornes, he’s after the pillboxes, but now knows they aren’t easily accessible.”

He sipped, then went on, “Tomorrow I’ll show you the priest hole—it’s the perfect hiding place, obvious once you know of its existence. Our first hurdle will be getting details of the priest hole to him in a way he’ll believe.”