The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes (London Highwaymen, #2)(73)

She lowered her voice. “I’m Marian Hayes. Percy’s—”

“I know who you are. He’s not here.”

“I came to see you. I wished to make your acquaintance. I believe we are to be neighbors.” She tried to pitch her voice into a sufficiently friendly register, but she was afraid that her voice simply didn’t do that. Her words came out clipped and chilly. “Any friend of Percy’s is a friend of mine,” she added, somewhat desperately, in the hope that her words might stand for more than her manners.

“Afraid I can’t say the same,” said Mr. Webb. “Percy likely has any number of silly, idle, useless popinjays for friends.”

“Percy is a silly, idle, useless popinjay,” Marian protested. “And that hasn’t stopped you.”

The corner of Mr. Webb’s mouth hitched up in something that might have almost been a smile. “He isn’t idle.”

“Perhaps not anymore, but I witnessed ten years of uninterrupted idleness on his part. I’m quite certain he accomplished nothing at all until last month and would have been mortally offended by anyone who suggested otherwise.”

He nodded thoughtfully, as if this were a sensible response—which, of course, it was, but Marian hadn’t expected him to think so. “How many animals did he take in?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Rob. How many animals did he attempt to rescue while taking you to and from Canterbury? I’ve never known him to travel more than ten miles without finding a three-legged hedgehog, a blind puppy, or a litter of kittens abandoned by their mother.”

“Only one,” Marian said, marveling at the image of Rob rescuing a hedgehog. “A rather unfortunate cat.”

Mr. Webb nodded, as if satisfied by this explanation. “Rob’s not here, either,” he said, as if all their previous conversation had been a test of some sort. “He’s at the Royal Oak.”

Marian already knew that but thanked Mr. Webb for the information anyway. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” she said before turning toward the door.

Mr. Webb didn’t return the compliment, but he very nearly smiled, and that, Marian suspected, meant much the same thing.





Chapter 34




Rob was watching the door, so he saw the exact moment Marian walked into the Royal Oak. She was wearing one of her aggressively somber getups and she had brought with her some kind of manservant, who she dispatched in the direction of the taproom as soon as she saw Rob. He was on his feet before she reached his table.

“Percy told me this was an establishment women could enter without attracting too much notice, but I have to say I’m surprised.” She looked around before sitting. “It’s not a public house at all, but an inn.”

He was oddly embarrassed by how reputable this place was. “There are twenty rooms. And stalls for a few dozen horses.”

“More horses than people?”

He shrugged. “I think the people who used to run the place knew which species they preferred.”

“Evidently, we’re to be neighbors,” she said. “I’m going to keep house for Percy and it’s all going to be terrifyingly respectable. I’ll be right next door to Mr. Webb, so it would be convenient for anyone who might wish to call on me, even at unconventional hours.”

“Is that an invitation?”

She glared at him. “Of course it is. Don’t be silly.”

“I’m glad you came.”

“I just told you not to be silly.”

“I thought you might have trouble getting away. Duchess duties, I don’t know.” He regretted the words almost immediately. Things were easy enough like this, almost like they had been on their trip out to Canterbury; they were two equals sitting across the table from one another.

“Yes, well, you might be aware that the duchess duties will be coming to an end on the first of January.” She sounded pleased, but there was something shuttered about her expression that he didn’t quite like the look of.

“Three days from now,” he said.

“Three days,” she agreed. “So, let’s have that truth telling you promised me.”

Rob took a deep breath. “My mother is Elsie Terry. And my father—”

“She doesn’t go by that anymore. I had tea with her this morning and she told me to call her Scarlett.”

“I mean—you did what?—what I’m trying to say is that I’m probably the Duke of Clare’s heir.”

“I know.”

Rob knew he was gaping. “How long have you known?”

“Since yesterday. You ought to have told me before.”

“I know, but—”

“And then we could have spent the past two weeks coming up with a plan. Instead you’ve been pouting.”

“I have not!”

“Sulking. And you, a grown man. Have you told your friends? Oh, I’m glad you did. I assume they’re completely unbothered by this?”

“Yes,” he muttered, unmoored by this conversation. “Although they seem to think I shouldn’t be so opposed to . . .” He made yet another vague gesture.

She raised an eyebrow. “That surprises me. They think you should . . . be the Duke of Clare?”