Читать книгу The Gentleman Thief - Deborah Simmons - Страница 7

No one took Georgiana Bellewether seriously.

To her utter dismay, she had been cursed with the lush curves of a cyprian, sprightly blond curls and big blue eyes that had often been compared to limpid pools. People took one look at her and decided that she didn’t have a brain in her head. Of course, most men didn’t think women intelligent anyway, but in her case they could conceive her to be nothing except a goosecap.

It was mortifying.

Her mother was a dear, rather flighty character, her father a genial, rotund squire, and Georgiana had no doubt that she would be happier had she taken after them. Unfortunately, of the four Bellewether progeny, she was the sole child to have inherited the characteristics of her great-uncle Morcombe, a noted scholar with a keen mind. Since her first toddling steps, Georgiana had devoured all manner of study, surpassing the skills of the family governess, the local academy for young ladies and her brother’s tutor with equal fervor.

Her own particular talents leaned toward the solving of mysteries, and she often cursed the female form that kept her from life as a Bow Street Runner. Instead of following clues and daringly capturing criminals, she was forced to content herself with voracious reading and the unraveling of small puzzles that were presented to her in Chatham’s Corner, the hamlet where her father reigned jovially as both squire and sheriff.

But this year, she vowed, it would be different. Her family had repaired to Bath for the summer, and Georgiana intended to make the most of her new location. Surely, in the famous resort town she would come upon at least one poser worthy of her skills! And certainly the wide and varied populace must be possessed of a more discerning nature than the rural inhabitants to whom she was accustomed.

Unfortunately, after a week spent visiting the Pump Room and strolling the avenues at the most fashionable hours, Georgiana was forced to admit her disappointment. Although she had enjoyed exploring, thus far she had met the same sort of genteel types with whom she was already familiar. Worse, not a single conundrum had she come across.

With a sigh, Georgiana glanced about the reception rooms of Lady Culpepper’s lavish town house, eager for a diversion at the first real ball she had attended, but she saw only the usual assortment of dowagers and gouty gentlemen who populated Bath. Several misses, younger than herself, were there with doting mamas, hoping to snare a husband among the resort’s visitors. Unfortunately, Georgiana had yet to meet one with more on her mind than marriage.

She dismissed them all only to have her gaze arrested by an elegant figure dressed entirely in black. Now there was a puzzle, Georgiana thought, her eyes narrowing. It didn’t take someone of her particular talents to realize that the appearance of the Marquis of Ashdowne was most unusual, for the haut ton no longer favored Bath as they had a half century ago. Handsome, charming noblemen of Ashdowne’s ilk stayed in London or followed the Prince Regent to Brighton. Or, Georgiana speculated, they spent their time at scandalous parties held in their huge, elegant country homes.

Not for the first time since she had heard of his visit, Georgiana thought Ashdowne’s sudden interest in Bath was decidedly odd. She would have liked to find out why he was here but had yet to wrangle an introduction. He had arrived just a few days ago, sending all the young unmarried ladies, including her sisters, into a flutter of excitement, and it was difficult to see him through the crowd of women who surrounded him.

He had let one of the fashionable houses in Camden Place, and this was the first the general populace had seen of him. He was here supposedly to take the waters, but Georgiana found the idea absurd, for he was not quite thirty and not reputed to be ailing. Make that definitely not ailing, Georgiana amended, as the group parted, affording her a good view of the man.

He was the very picture of health. Indeed, the Marquis of Ashdowne might well be the healthiest man Georgiana had ever seen, she decided, with a swift intake of breath. He was tall, probably six feet in height, and slender. Not skinny, mind you, but broad shouldered and muscular, though not in a bulky sort of way. All in all, the marquis possessed a grace and bearing Georgiana had not expected in one of the overfed, debauched members of the ton.

Lithe. That was the word that struck her as her attention traveled up the elegant, expensive clothing to his face. His hair was dark and sleek, his eyes a startling blue, and his mouth was…Georgiana could muster no description for it, with its lush curves and a small indentation above his upper lip. Ashdowne, she realized, swallowing abruptly, was handsome beyond belief.

And awake on every suit.

The knowledge came to her with a shock, for although Georgiana was all too aware of the misjudgments to be made based upon outward appearance, she assumed that someone that rich and powerful and beautiful could not possibly be blessed with brains, too. But she was wrong, for just as she blinked in amazement at his features, the Marquis of Ashdowne met her gaze with his own, bright with intelligence. Had Georgiana been the fanciful sort, she might have thought him aware of her scrutiny, for it seemed as though he had singled her out of the crowd most particularly.

Georgiana drew back, ashamed to be staring, and when one of Ashdowne’s dark brows lifted in response, she colored. Fanning herself, she deliberately looked away. She had only been studying the man, as she would anyone else, and she grimaced in annoyance at his intimate glance. Ashdowne probably thought her just another one of the smitten females who practically swooned at his charm.

Whirling around, Georgiana was nearly halfway across the airy reception room when she realized that she had missed a golden opportunity for an introduction. Botheration! She snapped her fan in disgust, for she knew better than to let her personal feelings interfere with an investigation. She could hardly imagine a Bow Street Runner abandoning his case because one of his suspects eyed him with too much familiarity.

With a small sound of irritation, Georgiana turned back toward the way she had come, but already her place had been filled by other women, both young and old. Then her mama appeared, cajoling her to dance with a young man, and Georgiana, from long experience, knew better than to argue.

Mr. Nichols, Georgiana soon discovered, was a nice enough fellow, here with his family from Kent, but as he spoke haltingly on such bland topics as the weather and the society of Bath, Georgiana’s attention wandered. Although she kept craning her neck in an effort to see Ashdowne, when she finally spied the marquis, he was heading out to the garden with a young widow who apparently had abandoned her mourning most precipitously.

Georgiana frowned as Mr. Nichols met with her again during the dance, and she nodded absently at his questions. She really had no time for such inanities! Unfortunately, she recognized all too well the dazed expression on her partner’s face. If focused, it would no doubt rest upon her curls or her white throat, or worse yet, the alarming expanse of pale breast that her mother insisted she expose as fashionable.

He paid no attention to what she was saying, of course, and at times like these, Georgiana was often tempted to whisper of insurrection or confess to a murder, in an effort to jolt her audience into awareness. Her admirers usually fell into two camps: those who paid no heed whatsoever to what she said, and those who hung on her every word.

Unfortunately, the latter were of no more use to her than the former, for she always failed to engage them in any kind of meaningful discourse. The sapskulls agreed with everything she said! She supposed she ought to be used to it by now, but nevertheless, Georgiana felt a twinge of disappointment.

Her mother was always extolling the virtues of marriage and parenthood, but how could Georgiana even entertain the notion of a life spent with a man such as this? Yet how was she, in her small venue, to acquaint herself with anyone else? Education among the gentry was a haphazard business at best, and even those with a modicum of schooling seemed to be struck dumb by her appearance.

It was the curse of her existence. And so she discouraged them all, much to her mother’s disappointment, and resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood, where she might have the freedom to finally dress and act as she wished, providing her great-uncle Morcombe left her the stipend he had promised. Not that she wished him to pass on in the near future.

It was with much relief that Georgiana realized the set was coming to an end, and she sent Mr. Nichols happily off to fetch her an ice, which granted her a slight but much desired reprieve from his company.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” her mother gushed into her ear. “I have it on good authority that he will come into a lovely piece of land in Yorkshire from his grandfather, which ought to provide him with a thousand pounds a year!”

The earnestness in her dear mother’s face prevented Georgiana from dashing the woman’s hopes with a scathing reply. If not Mr. Nichols, then some other gentleman would be forced upon her, so she simply nodded absently while searching the room for Ashdowne. To her surprise, he had joined in the dancing, moving with a grace that caused a fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach.

“Please, excuse me,” she said, moving away from her mother with a distracted air.

“But Mr. Nichols…”

Ignoring her mother’s protest, Georgiana slipped into the crowd. Although she lost sight of Ashdowne, she was pleased to be free of both her dear mama and Mr. Nichols, and so she made her way slowly through the press of people, watching and listening. It was one of her favorite pastimes, for there was always the chance she might overhear information that could come in handy. Not gossip, of course, but something pertinent to her investigation.

In this case, talk about Ashdowne.

Unfortunately, she didn’t hear much of use, only that he was so dashing and charming, etcetera, ad nauseam. He had been a younger son, coming into the title after the death of his brother a year ago. He appeared to have settled into the title quite nicely, according to one knowing matron, and did not hold himself above the rest of the world, as evidenced by his most gracious manner. Etcetera. Ad nauseam. The conversations were much the same. All the gushing over Ashdowne became positively annoying, and, perversely, she became even more determined to find the man guilty of something.

“Ah, Georgie!” Stifling a groan, Georgiana turned to find her father standing beside her with a sober-looking gentleman. Another potential suitor for her, she surmised, fighting the urge to run screaming from the room.

“Mr. Hawkins, here she is, my eldest daughter! Lovely girl, just as I told you, and such a clever thing. I’m sure you will find her most interested in your scholarship!”

Georgiana, knowing her dear father all too well, gathered that he was not, and was eager to pass his new acquaintance on to herself.

“Georgie, love, this is Mr. Hawkins. He’s newly arrived at Bath, too, and hoping to find a living here, as he’s a vicar and very learned.”

Georgiana pasted a smile on her face and managed to greet Mr. Hawkins with a modicum of civility. He was attractive in a rather severe way, but something in his gray eyes told her that he was not the kind of gentle, unassuming soul as was their own Vicar Marshfield.

“A pleasure, of course, Miss Bellewether,” the man said. “But a lady such as yourself could hardly be expected to understand the intricacies of philosophy. Indeed, I suspect that most men would be hard-pressed to match my knowledge, since I have devoted my life to its study.”

Before Georgiana could argue that she was a devotee of Plato, who had, after all, founded the science of logic, Mr. Hawkins went on. “And, I must admit that Rousseau has fallen out of favor, what with the unpleasantness in France. However, I cannot see how he can be blamed for what befell the unfortunates there.”

“So you believe that—” Georgiana began, but Mr. Hawkins cut her off with a sniff.

“But, then, the most enlightened men have often suffered for their genius,” he declared.

It didn’t take Georgiana’s keen faculties to determine that the pompous vicar counted himself among the persecuted academics, and Georgiana’s spark of interest was immediately and firmly doused. She would find no intellectual stimulation here, for Mr. Hawkins obviously was in the habit of expounding—not conversing.

Stifling a yawn, she stood there while he tossed off long words and theories in a strange mix that left her certain he understood very little of what he was spouting. No wonder her father had been so eager to be rid of the man! Georgiana was rapidly reaching her limits of endurance, too.

“Ah, there is our hostess!” she said, in an effort to break away, but Mr. Hawkins would not let her go so easily.

“Humph! I am surprised that she has opened her home to so many of her social inferiors, for it has been my experience that those of her rank are rarely cordial to the less fortunate.”

Although Lady Culpepper was prone to the condescending air of the nobility, Georgiana did not find her any worse than most. “I admit that she could be more gracious, but—”

”Gracious?” Mr. Hawkins cut Georgiana off with an unbecoming scoff, an odd vehemence in his voice. “The lady and her kind are not known for their courtesy to others, but lord their wealth and power over the rest of us. I find them frivolous beings with no concerns except their own selfish caprices!”

Mr. Hawkins’s sudden venom surprised Georgiana, but then, as swiftly as it had come over him, the mood was gone, replaced by a rather bland expression. “However, a man in my position must do his best to mingle with society,” he added, as if begrudging his chosen career.

“I would think it your vocation to convince people to be more charitable,” Georgiana noted idly.

Mr. Hawkins responded with a patronizing smile that made her bristle. “It is to your credit that you would think of such things, but I can hardly expect such a beautiful lady to understand the complexities of my position,” he said, and Georgiana was tempted to boot him into a new position with a good swift kick. “Indeed, I vow that you, Miss Bellewether, are the saving grace to a tedious evening spent in ill company.”

If Georgiana had thought the man too full of himself to have noticed her presence, she was sadly mistaken, for even as he spoke warmly of her, his gaze drifted tellingly to her bosom. And for a religious man, he was studying her a little too avidly for her taste. “You must excuse me,” she said abruptly, and hurried off into the crowd before he could launch into another lengthy discourse.

After slipping through the assemblage, keeping her eyes and ears attuned to anything of interest, Georgiana halted behind a tall potted plant, a large fern of some sort, where she listened to several conversations, all of them exceedingly dull. At last, growing restless, she was about to depart when there was a shuffling nearby and the sound of whispered voices, which, as everyone knew, invariably signaled something interesting.

Moving unobtrusively closer, Georgiana peered through the greenery in an effort to catch a glimpse of the speakers. She saw a rather sturdy looking gentleman with a sadly receding hairline whom she immediately recognized at Lord Whalsey, a middle-aged viscount. Rumor had it that he was dangling for a rich wife among those who came to Bath, and, indeed, he was a popular one with the ladies, if a bit full of himself. As she peeked under a particularly large leaf, Georgiana could see him hunched next to a younger man with a rather pinched face, and the two appeared terribly serious. She leaned closer.

“Well? Do you have it?” Whalsey asked, his voice betraying an agitation that immediately seized Georgiana’s attention.

“Er, not exactly,” the other man hedged.

“What the devil? I thought you were going to get it tonight! Demn, Cheever, you swore you could manage this, you—”

“Hold on there,” the man called Cheever said in a placating tone. “You shall have it all right. There’s been a complication, that’s all.”

“What kind of complication?” Whalsey spat. “And it better not cost me more!”

“Well, I’ve run into a bit of difficulty locating it.”

“What do you mean?” Whalsey cried. “You know very well where it is! That’s why we came to this deadly dull backwater!”

“Of course, it’s here, but it’s not lying about in plain view, now is it? I’ve got to make a search for it, and I haven’t had a chance because some bloody idiot’s always around!”

Forgetting about Ashdowne, Georgiana held her breath and stuck her head right into the foliage.

“Who?” Whalsey asked.

“The servants!”

“Well, tonight’s your chance, you dolt! What are you doing standing here?”

“I might as well enjoy a bit of the evening while I’m out, mightn’t I?” Cheever said smoothly. “It hardly seems fair that you’re dancing and frolicking while I’m doing the dirty work!”

Whalsey’s face turned florid, and he opened his mouth as if to shout, but, to Georgiana’s disappointment, he appeared to recover himself, lowering his voice until she had to strain to hear. “If you’re angling for more money, I told you I haven’t a penny to—”

Frustrated by the inaudible words, Georgiana leaned forward a little too far. The plant, berthed in an elegant urn, tipped slightly and, caught in its growth, she too swayed precariously. With a low gasp, she reached for a heavy leaf, hoping to right both the shrub and herself, but lost her balance. For one moment, Georgiana seemed to hang in the air, staring at the horrified faces of Lord Whalsey and Cheever.

So intent was she upon the fleeing twosome as they hurried away that Georgiana did not see the other man approaching. Only after she veered violently in the other direction in an attempt to regain her footing did she glimpse him. And then, of course, it was too late. Both she and the wretched plant toppled directly into him, sending all three of them to the floor in a heap.

Vaguely Georgiana heard startled gasps from around her as she struggled to separate herself from the thick leaves. She was on the carpet, her legs all tangled up with those of the man who lay beneath her, and her gown had risen scandalously to expose her ankles. Worst of all, she had missed hearing more about the nefarious plot she was certain the two men were hatching. Botheration!

Blowing away a fat curl, Georgiana pushed off the floor in an effort to sit, only to hear a pained grunt from below as her knee connected with a certain portion of male anatomy. With a cry of dismay, Georgiana jerked upward, but she was stopped by her twisted skirts and fell forward once more.

More gasps went up from around her and then Georgiana felt firm hands upon her waist as she lifted her head only to recoil in horror at the face that came into view. Dark brows were no longer raised in arrogance but lowered in a disturbing manner that made the elegant features below them appear rather fierce, while that compelling mouth twisted into something resembling a snarl. “For God’s sake, stop wiggling!” he said.

“Ashdowne!” Georgiana breathed. She had a moment to blink in alarm before the hands at her waist lifted her effortlessly upward and then they were both upright, the marquis setting her on her feet. She took a faltering step backward, but he held on to her, and Georgiana suddenly became aware of the heat generated by his touch. Like fire, it burned through the thin silk she wore, igniting her skin and sending warmth rushing throughout her body.

Curious. Georgiana glanced at her companion and stared, transfixed. He was just that much more beautiful up close, his eyes so blue as to make her own seem insipid instead of limpid, and Georgiana felt an odd dipping sensation in the pit of her stomach. As she gaped, he released her and stepped back, his handsome face wearing an expression of extreme annoyance as he raised one slender hand to brush a smattering of dirt from his elegant silk waistcoat. To her dismay, the marquis was looking at her as if she were an irritating bug he would like to squash—or at least be rid of.

Jolted from her stupor by the realization, Georgiana muttered her apologies in a hushed whisper that sounded like the breathless nonsense of a swooning admirer. And then, Georgiana, who thought herself past the age of blushes, felt a fiery stain rise in her cheeks as embarrassment claimed her. She was not one of those marriage-mad misses, and she desperately sought the words to convey that to his lordship. But her halting excuse was cut short by the arrival of her mother, along with two servants, who hurried to clean up the spilled soil.

“Georgie!” Wincing at the sound of her pet name called out loudly, Georgiana did not hear Ashdowne’s murmured platitude. And before she could question him, he tilted his head and moved away, as if all too relieved to quit her company. To her dismay, Georgiana found herself surrounded by her mother and her sisters, while he disappeared into the crowd.

“Georgie! What on earth were you doing—inspecting the shrubbery?” her mama asked, eyeing the nearby plant as if it ought to explain itself. When it did not, she turned to her daughter.

“Lovely girl, but not too graceful, I fear.” Her father’s booming voice made Georgiana grimace, as did the titters of her sisters. Must her whole family make so much of this?

“Are you all right, Miss Bellewether?” As if things were not bad enough, Mr. Nichols had found her again. And how could he not, considering the spectacle she had made of herself? “I say, one can hardly move in this dreadful squeeze, and to clutter the floor with obstacles…” He shook his head, his gaze drifting down her wrinkled clothes to her ankle. Hastily Georgiana smoothed her gown and sighed as her mother urged her to a nearby chair and Mr. Nichols forced upon her the ice that was now sadly warm.

While they fussed, Georgiana fought the urge to leap to her feet and flee their attentions. Worse yet, she felt as if all eyes in the room were upon her—a terrible prospect for someone who was trying to be unobtrusive. She had bungled royally—and just when she was finally hearing something interesting.

Scowling with exasperation, Georgiana waved her mother away and searched the crowd for any sign of Lord Whalsey and his cohort, but all she saw was Ashdowne. Although he appeared to be speaking with the hostess, his eyes were on her, his mouth curved in condemnation as if he held her entirely responsible for the recent debacle.

Botheration! She had not asked for his help, nor had she even seen him tendering it, so he could hardly blame her if his efforts went awry. She would have done better without him, she thought, her cheeks flaming, and she had a notion to tell him so, but her opportunity for dialogue had once again slipped away. And it was all her own fault!

A Bow Street Runner would not have gaped like a schoolroom miss at a pretty visage, but would have made the most of the chance encounter, asking Ashdowne what he was doing in Bath, judging his answers and slyly maneuvering him into an admission of…something. Georgiana wasn’t sure what exactly, but she was determined to find out.

She glanced toward the subject of her musings and nearly started in surprise, for he was gone once again, Lady Culpepper now being deep in conversation with a turbaned matron. Amazed, Georgiana blew out a breath, disturbing one of her curls, and shook her head. The man seemed to appear and disappear in an instant, and she decided it was a good thing she was not given to whimsy, or she might suspect him of preternatural abilities.

“…like limpid pools.” The sound of Mr. Nichols’s voice brought her attention back to him, and, pasting a smile upon her face, Georgiana tried to show more forbearance than was her wont. She managed the task for a few minutes before abandoning her efforts and excusing herself.

Telling her mother that she needed to freshen up after the mishap, Georgiana instead roamed the room looking for Whalsey and Cheever, to no avail. When she caught a glimpse of Mr. Hawkins bearing down upon her with grim intent, she fled out into the garden, where she breathed a deep sigh of relief.

The night air was scented with the spring flowers that lined secluded walkways, lit only by the glorious display of stars overhead. Another young lady might have found magic in the evening, but not Georgiana. She wondered who was out there in the darkness. Had Whalsey and his cohort adjourned to a more private location to discuss their suspicious business? Only Georgiana’s innate good sense prevented her from indulging her curiosity and slipping onto the paths herself.

With a sigh, she cursed the gender that made her prey to the designs of men and subject to the confining strictures of society. A Bow Street Runner could easily go wherever he wanted, whether a midnight garden or the seediest neighborhood in London. Ah, what a wonderful life, she thought, never pausing to wonder how such a fellow would manage to gain entry to a party such as this one. She spent long, delightful minutes enjoying the illustrious career that could have been hers, if only she had been born a man.

Georgiana might have remained there forever, lost in pleasant musings, if not for a loud giggle that erupted behind one of the nearby shrubs. With a sigh, she decided it was time to return to the party before she saw the kind of assignation that was of no interest to her—the romantic sort. No doubt her mother was searching for her, for it was growing late, and the rather staid Bellewether party would be heading home soon.

With one last glance at the dark lawn, Georgiana turned and slipped through the French doors into the reception room, prepared to find her family, when a bloodcurdling scream rent the air. Stunned, she turned toward the sound and caught sight of the hostess, Lady Culpepper, rushing down the main staircase, accompanied by the turbaned matron she had seen earlier.

Both women looked distraught, and Georgiana hurried forward. She reached the bottom of the steps just in time to hear the turbaned woman babble something about a necklace, and then the cry went up, carried through the crowd faster than any wildfire: ”Lady Culpepper’s famous emeralds have been stolen.”

As news of the theft flew through the reception room, the rest of the house and, presumably, all of Bath, Georgiana, who had refused to budge until she heard the whole of it, was privy to the first breathless report of the turbaned woman she later identified as Mrs. Higgott.

Weeding through the babbling to the bare facts of the matter, Georgiana learned that the two women had been discussing Lady Culpepper’s jewelry when Mrs. Higgott expressed admiration for the emerald necklace, well-known among the ton as the pride of her collection. Lady Culpepper, either graciously or vainly, offered to show off the piece and the two went to her bedroom, where they found the jewel case open upon the bed, the piece in question gone and the window open.

Since a servant had been stationed in the hall outside the door all evening, it was assumed that the thief somehow managed to scale the side of the building, a feat that engendered nearly as much talk as the burglary itself. Although Georgiana forced her brother Bertrand to accompany her on a tour of the grounds afterward, there was nothing to be seen in the darkness, and all her efforts to question the two women were turned aside. Indeed, the party quickly broke up out of consideration for Lady Culpepper’s terrible loss, with everyone expressing shock at the commission of such a crime in quiet Bath.

Everyone, that is, except Georgiana.