As they headed up the stairway, Valen waited, as was proper, for Elizabeth to pass. She couldn’t help inquiring in a hushed undertone, “Your striped coat, my lord, it is very, er, unique. Does it signify membership in a club, perhaps, such as the Four-in-Hand Club, whose members wear the yellow and blue striped waistcoats?”
He glanced at his sleeves as if surprised to discover that it was, indeed, striped. “Why, Lady Elizabeth, how very astute of you to notice. You have guessed correctly. It signifies that I am part of a very exclusive organization dedicated to protecting helpless, unsuspecting bunnies.”
To give him credit, he delivered his reply with the utmost earnestness. So much so that it wasn’t until he developed a wicked smirk that she realized she’d been neatly trumped.
“We call ourselves the Marmot Hunting Club.”
Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath. Then she recovered herself and sniffed as if someone had just fouled the air. “How odd, to form an organization to hunt a species that does not exist in England. You have my sympathy, my lord. It must be a very dull sort of club.”
He appeared to be repressing an excessively evil grin. “Bound to pick up speed—we’ve just had word of a sighting.” He smirked at her pointedly.
Elizabeth fought not to grind her teeth. Ladies do not display their tempers. However, if it was true that a person could look daggers at another, she was giving it her best try, for she was completely nonplussed and could not think of an appropriate set-down.
Naturally, she did what she knew best to do. She stuck her nose in the air and flounced up the stairs, following after his insane aunt. Honestly, she began to wonder if Marie Antoinette didn’t have an easier time of it in the tower, excepting, of course, the part about the guillotine.
That night Elizabeth hid in her room, taking supper on a tray, begging to be excused owing to her exhaustion from the day’s labors. In truth, she simply had no wish to subject herself to any further teasing and humiliation and felt certain she would suffer precisely that were she to go downstairs. Elizabeth had a plan, and she would stick to it. The sooner she accomplished her objective, the sooner she and Robert might remove themselves from this barmy purgatory.
4
All Is Not As It Seams
The morning began by harkening back to deep winter. Gray mist seeped in around the casements, hanging gloom in the corners of the room with its chill fingers. Not a good day for a young lady to go for a stroll with her maid, and even less suitable for her to leave the house alone. Valen watched Lady Elizabeth leave Alison Hall from his upstairs window. She should not command his attention so thoroughly, but he could not remove his gaze as she furtively glanced back to make sure she had not been seen.
He knew what she was. She had evidenced it on that very first day. Uncanny that such an arrogant chit should be Robert’s twin. A pity.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “The old long coat, Biggs. I’m going for a walk.”
His former sergeant looked up from folding a pile of linen and glanced pointedly at the moisture collecting into rivulets on the windowpane. “Oh aye, Capt’n. A glorious day for a stroll. And will you be wanting something to keep the sun off yer face?”
“Excellent thinking. The old brown hat with the wide brim.”
Biggs moaned.
“Be quick about it, man. My quarry is getting away.”
Valen had a fair notion where Lady Elizabeth might be headed with such furtiveness. She wore a dark hooded cloak, as if she were merely a lady’s maid on an errand. Clever girl. His worn brown coat marked him as a nobody, a person of no consequence. Ironically, she would look right through him, just as she counted on her own disguise making her invisible to members of the ton. He hurried down the stairs. The drizzle and fog made it a perfect day for a hunt.
Lady Elizabeth set a bracing pace toward the Strand, and seemed to know precisely where she was going. Valen kept a cautious distance but had no trouble following her. Her height aided him on that score. When she crossed from the church of St. Clement and headed down Water Lane, there were very few passersby, and he had to be more discreet rounding each corner.
The establishment she entered stood in row of crumbling brick warehouses. Black paint peeled off the wooden first floor façade, and new paint on the window proclaimed the inhabitants to be Smythe and Sons, Purveyors of Fine Goods from Around the World. As he peered through the glass, he noted that Mr. Smythe looked neither old enough to have a son in business, nor young enough to be a son, unless the elder Smythe was a man in his dotage.
Izzie, as he’d taken to calling her by Robert’s pet name when he thought of her—a dangerous indulgence—threw back her hood and spoke with animation to Mr. Smythe. Valen pulled up the collar of his coat and adjusted the brim of his hat so that he did not appear too obvious as he watched them through the glass.
Smythe shook his head and gestured toward the bolts of cloth standing in bins against the wall. Lady Elizabeth, Valen schooled himself to remain formal when regarding her, shook her head vehemently. He caught bits and pieces of their conversation.
“Must be unusual... willing to pay.” She plunked her reticule down on the counter. Not a wise move, Izzie. Valen caught the predatory gleam in Smythe’s eye. The foolhardy chit would be lucky if the proprietor didn’t knock her on the head and take her money without troubling himself to make an exchange. Without thinking, Valen wrapped his fingers around the
