Townhouse Number One, Grosvenor Street
Lady Camilla Bowles Attington Carrington Whitby wrinkled her nose in disgust after having had to repeat the entire sordid outline of how she planned to keep the Earl of Framlingwood's five mistresses out of harm's way whilst the infernal man dealt with a mysterious blackmailer's demands. The woman across from her serving cups of tea as if she'd been born to the ways of aristocratic drawing rooms had taken her by surprise, which rarely happened to Camilla.
Mrs. Cassandra Collins' creamy, glowing skin still had the sun-kissed look of the islands even though Camilla knew it had been a few years since Captain El had rescued her from a nasty situation on Jamaica. She didn't know the details of the incident, nor did she ever wish to know. She shuddered at the thought of the daring, secret doings of her close friend, the captain, now the Duchess of Chelmsford.
Taking on the title, not to mention the stuffy duke, Percy, was the price the woman had had to pay to marry the love of her life once they'd been reunited years after growing up as childhood sweethearts in a small town near Bath. She couldn't imaginehow Captain Eleanor managed to put up with her pompous husband. However, the few times she'd seen them together, the love they had for each other was obvious. They seemed so happy, in a discreet sort of way, that it made one feel warm just being around them.
Mrs. Collins served Camilla a steaming hot cup of bracing Earl Gray tea before she finally reacted to the tale of her employer's woes. "Why hasn't Lord Framlingwood made me aware of the predicament in which he finds himself?"
Camilla gratefully accepted the fragrant cup, took a steadying sip, and pronounced, "Because he's a man."
"Ah, of course." She smiled conspiratorially. "They do all seem to be alike, don't they?"
"I confess I've developed a deep admiration for you, Mrs. Collins."
"Whatever for?" She laughed then, a deep, throaty laugh. And when she leaned forward to add another lump of sugar to her cup, her bosom strained against the simple, high-necked, striped muslin work dress she wore. Camilla was struck with the sudden realization that this was a woman who could tempt Prinny himself. In fact, she was surprised the earl's tempting housekeeper hadn't. No wonder Derek kept her sequestered away from public view toiling in service to keep the man's five mistresses happy.
Camilla allowed herself a small smile. "I must tell you I admire you greatly for accomplishing the impossible."
"And what would that be?" Derek's housekeeper glanced up slyly over the rim of her cup.
"You've organized a plan to serve five households of mistresses, all the while keeping each of Derek's women unaware of each other."
The woman's infectious laugh rang out again. "Well actually..." She leaned forward and looked around as if shefeared the walls might have ears. "I decided to tell the women about each other when the second mistress moved in. I knew the best way to avoid scandals, fights, or jealous blow-ups would be to explain the arrangement to each of the women as they moved in."
Camilla nearly allowed her delicate jaw to drop open in awe. "That was extremely bold and clever of you."
"Thank you." Mrs. Collins raised her cup in a half-salute to Lady Camilla, as if she knew they were going to be partners of a sort...in crime.
6 September,1826
The Dog and Duck Inn
Ruhlmion Street Off the Strand
Adrienne sat at a table inside the Dog and Duck, a darkened tavern on a side street near the Strand. Four or five stubs of candles sputtered inside a clutter of lanterns giving weak lighting to the tankards of ale in front of her and her companion.
The young man on the other side of the table stared out through eyes whose world-weariness belied his actual age. Dickie Jones was a peer of the streets. He knew every sweep, every cutpurse...and all of them were beholden to him in one way or another. Very little happened between Maiden Lane and Mayfair that escaped his notice.
And now that he'd been taken in by his sponsor, Mr. Lionel Carrington-Bowles, and could live in comfort in Lady Camilla Bowles Attington Carrington Whitby's townhouse on St. James Square when he chose, Dickie had set his sights higher. He'd added dark deeds performed by many of the "nobs" of the ton he'd spoken of so derisively over the years.
Aristocrats up to no good were nothing new in the sprawling splendor-to-squalor which was London. Dickie, however, had taken the tracking of their wrongdoings to a level of expertise that the denizens of Bow Street would envy. Which was why Adrienne had sought him out. She'd met the young man whilst working as a seamstress at Goodrum's House of Pleasure, province of the infamous Captain El. The young Mr. Jones was a regular amongst the many "eyes" and "ears" Adrienne's former enigmatic employer used to maintain both her public and private empires.
In her scrawled message to ask Dickie to meet her at the Dog and Duck, she'd cautioned him not to reveal her whereabouts to Obadiah.
"I'd give a guinea to know what's going on in that pretty head of yours." Dickie took another long draught of his tankard of ale and gave her a speculative look. "Gossip at Goodrum's says you've been the toy of a rich nob over on Grosvenor Street for a while now. Obadiah hasn't been the same since you left. What went wrong?"
"You're not going to use me for another piece of information for your filthy vault. Nothing went wrong. I just got tired of being his land widow." When Dickie remained silent for long minutes, all the while staring hard with his ancient eyes, Adrienne nearly faltered in her determination to keep her life private...and quiet...on the gossip-ridden streets of London.
He'd always had a way about him that made you want to spill out all the fears and evil memories swirling inside you. You wanted to unburden yourself of all your secrets and sins to the gentle young man with the angelic mien sitting across from you.
For Adrienne, though, that would be the equivalent of opening the fabled Pandora's Box and allowing all the black, evil creatures inside to flutter across the earth. Once the box was opened, there was no way to slam the damned thing shut again.
In the end, she flinched first. And with a huge sigh gave up her tale of the terrible day in her childhood when she'd disfigured the Marquess of Ormonde's face in an attempt to save her mother's life.
After she'd spooled out her long, miserable tale, Dickie spoke into the pain and silence. "What do you want, Adrienne? Do you want me to get rid of your tormentor?" He paused, thoughtful for a moment. "Did he have someone do that to you?" He pointed to the bruise on her forehead not quite disguised by layers of makeup.
Adrienne jumped up, enraged. "You already know what happened on Bond Street?"
