A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(40)
Miss Stanhope beamed and chattered away, clearly under the impression she had made a new friend. “We are to have an impromptu hop in a little while,” she confided. “I am sure everyone enjoys a dance, do they not? Everything is planned and Miss Green has practised the music. My mother is simply waiting on anyone particularly well-connected arriving, so they may be welcomed first.”
“Inspired,” murmured Verity, wondering if her hostess knew the correct meaning of impromptu.
Miss Stanhope jiggled excitedly and gave a suppressed squeal. “Oh, the officers are rolling back the carpet. Lieutenant Neville moves so very well, does he not? One would think the effort nothing. He is coming over! He is going to ask me to dance, I know it. Oh, Miss Bowman, whatever shall I say? Our neighbour Mr Hollis was supposed to lead me out.”
“Then you should move swiftly across to your mama as if you have noticed nothing. Come, I will go with you so as to make it not look so singular.”
Miss Stanhope turned with evident reluctance as Verity linked her arm firmly in hers. “Oh, but there is something about Lieutenant Neville that is quite delicious, don’t you think?”
Verity nearly retorted that in that case she should stay and have her heart broken and see how delicious she found that, but instead she conscientiously steered the impressionable young lady to the safety of her mother’s machinations.
Now I can talk to Julia, she thought, only to be frustrated once again, and this time most unpleasantly.
“What a noble guest you are,” purred Lieutenant Neville in her ear. “Will you do me the honour of partnering me in the first dance?”
“I regret I must sit this out,” said Verity, cross that he had come up so very close behind her without invitation or encouragement. “I have a headache and would no doubt stumble over my own feet.”
He smiled widely. “Then I shall bear you company. No one should suffer a headache alone.”
Verity’s temper snapped. “I should be very poor company and am better left alone. Pray do not let me prevent you from enjoying yourself.”
“So modest. So delightful. Come, Miss Bowman, confess. Is not the music setting those dainty toes a-twitch?”
She stared at him in disbelief, furious that he was persevering. She was on the point of telling him that her feet were in fact a-twitch to administer a sharp kick, when her elbow was grasped from behind and she was borne towards the set then forming with a careless, “My apologies, Miss Bowman, I was delayed. I trust you will forgive me.”
“Charles, you are a complete saviour,” she said in deep thankfulness as they took their places. “I have never been more glad to see anyone. I am not even going to ask why you are here uninvited.”
“It would be of no use your doing so, for I scarcely know myself. It was not my intention. Shall we say you are not the only one who has had a trying evening.”
Earlier that evening
“Well, Nick, what do you have for us?” said Fitz
As Nicholas Dacre entered, Charles roused himself from his contemplation of Fitz’s notes on the latest bruised and battered anonymous woman fished out of Limehouse Basin. They were meeting in his own rooms tonight - the Albany was populous enough that a watcher would find nothing unusual in the casual arrivals and departures of any number of gentlemen. He waved Nick towards the decanter.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Nick. “Sad to say, I have nothing. Molly Turner was pleased to share a cosy supper with me last evening in the upper room of an inn a little way from the theatres. We discussed a great many plays, I find my mind quite astonishingly expanded as regards the iniquities practised by those malicious folk who like to defraud an honest woman out of making an honest penny, but as soon as the word Flint crossed my lips not one scrap more could I get out of her.”
“A rare failure.”
“Indeed. I must say, she has a refreshingly honest way about doing business and was happy to talk or not, as I wanted, but give away anything that might come back to hurt her or her kin she would not.”
“Did she say as much, Nick?”
“In those very words. Then finished her supper as pleasant as could be, tucked her money away and trotted off.”
Benedict Fitzgilbert drummed his fingers lightly on the table. “More and more I believe this Flint to be our shadowy gentleman. He has got them all running scared. Not a single loose mouth. Just the odd word, dropped like a crumb from a table.”
Charles stirred. “It speaks of money. Or power. He has to have a network. Why do we not know his thugs at the very least?”
“Because if we so much as get a sniff of one, they’re in the river next morning with their throat slit.”
“Just like these poor nameless women,” said Charles, touching Fitz’s notes. “Battered, abused, discarded.”
“Indeed,” said Fitz soberly. “We can only keep trying. I had hopes of your Molly Turner, Charles, but it was not to be. Speaking of obstinate females, what progress are you making on the lesser matter of the charming Captain Eastwick?”
Charles gestured helplessly. “It may be a lesser matter to you, but it is not to Kitty Eastwick. Hers is a hard-won caution. She says she married him with her eyes open, but she did not. How could she? She was born and brought up a gentleman’s daughter. She could not have known what her life would be with Eastwick. He is a charismatic predator, a bully, a gamester and appears entirely without morals.”