Page 6 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)

6

SILAS

T he bustle and chaos of Covent Garden was muffled in the distance as Silas turned onto King Street toward the market. He stopped at the corner, where he was set to meet Mrs. Fairchild, her nephew, and her two charges. Frederick should arrive any minute, as well.

According to Frederick’s sources, Lord Drayton was still not in London, which lent Silas a sense of freedom. He did not suppose Drayton was the type of man to take much joy in a place like Covent Garden—at least not until night fell and the seedier crowds made themselves at home. He had no doubt a man like Drayton, with no morals at all, would avail himself of the women on offer in the nearest brothels.

His eyes fixed on just one such brothel down the lane. If Bence refused to cooperate, perhaps Silas should try to discover whether Drayton did frequent any of these establishments. If so, perhaps he might have let something slip to one of those ladies of the night—not that the claims of such a person would count for much.

In his situation, he could not afford to be particular. Any information would be more than he now had.

He pulled his gaze away from the brothel and spotted Mrs. Fairchild and the others walking toward him.

His gaze went to Miss Easton, who was smiling at her aunt.

Gads, she was beautiful—every bit as beautiful as the mask that had covered half of her face the other night. Her dress reminded him of the pale blue of a robin’s egg. It had cream stripes that matched both her spencer and the ribbon on her bonnet.

Mr. Fairchild spotted Silas and waved, and the eyes of the three women turned to him.

Silas strode toward them with a smile, making an effort to look not just at Miss Easton but at the others, as well. And an effort it was .

Mr. Fairchild introduced him to his aunt and her daughter, and Silas bowed over Mrs. Fairchild’s hand.

“The famous Mr. Hayes,” she said, her cheeks slightly pink as she drew her gloved hand away. She was a middle-aged woman, tending toward portliness but with a distinctly jolly expression.

“Provided I am not in famous,” he replied, bowing to Miss Fairchild, then Miss Easton.

Her clear gaze met his with a sliver of accusation he ascribed to his impolite departure from Vauxhall. Much good it had done him. But knowing she had been safe, how could he have forgone the opportunity to speak with Bence?

“Certainly not infamous,” Mrs. Fairchild said. “I am so very glad you could meet us. I have been wishing to offer you my thanks for saving my dear niece.”

“It was nothing, I assure you, ma’am. The greatest pleasure.” His gaze shifted to Miss Easton again, and her mouth drew into a grateful smile that made his heart stutter.

Her gaze was curious, as though she, too, was taking him in now that he was free of his mask.

“My thanks as well,” Miss Fairchild said, stepping forward. “It was my thoughtlessness that put Bella in such a situation to begin with. I am indebted to you, Mr. Hayes.”

Bella. So, that was Miss Easton’s name.

Before Silas could respond, Frederick arrived, slightly breathless, and bowed to the three ladies.

“We are all here now,” Mr. Fairchild announced. “Shall we stroll around?”

“Oh, yes,” Miss Fairchild said. “Do let us.”

Mrs. Fairchild leaned in and whispered something to her nephew, who nodded.

“Come, cousin.” He put out his arm to Miss Fairchild, and her eyes darted to Silas for a brief second before she took it with a smile.

“Mr. Yorke,” Mrs. Fairchild said, “could I trouble you for your arm? My ankle is much improved, but I would be grateful for the stability.”

“By all means,” Frederick said, granting it to her.

The corner of Silas’s mouth twitched slightly as Miss Easton’s gaze met his. Was Mrs. Fairchild purposely arranging for him to escort Miss Easton? It certainly seemed that way.

“It looks as though your choice has been made for you, and you are consigned to my care again, Miss Easton.” He put out his arm.

“A frightful prospect,” she said as she accepted it. She looked up at him, her gaze clear and intent, with a hint of a twinkle lurking there. “Shall I prepare myself in case you run away again?”

He grimaced as they walked behind the others.

“And you, so adamant about redeeming yourself as a husband…”

“Only to abandon you,” he finished. “It was poorly done of me, wasn’t it?”

“Very,” she agreed. “Why did you do it?” There was real curiosity in her frank gaze now.

He took a moment before responding. “I have no satisfactory answer except that I am an impulsive man, Miss Easton.”

She considered that for a moment as the group came to stop in front of the market entrance. “And impulse tells you to run from me?”

His eyes held hers. No doubt he should run. He hardly knew her, but he wanted to know her. She was, from what he could tell from her clothing and bearing, a woman who came from wealth. Silas might be the brother of a duke, but he personally had nothing to offer a woman but a sullied reputation, a fistful of banknotes he hoped to multiply, and the real possibility of the gallows.

Father had urged him to pursue the law, but Silas had no patience for such things. He had wanted to make his own way.

Look where that had got him.

“I think you may be calling me a coward, Miss Easton,” he said.

“Are you one?”

“If I were, would I be standing here so boldly while you tear my character to shreds?”

She laughed and turned her eyes to the performers the others had stopped to watch. Three men were putting on a magic show. They made a ball disappear beneath a cup, and the surprise and delight on Miss Easton’s face brought a smile to Silas’s.

It was as though she had never seen a magician before. It had been the same with the fireworks. He guessed her to be three- or four-and-twenty, which made her awe at such things curious. There was a naivety to her that contrasted sharply with the wit and intellect she had shown. She was an enigma.

When the magician asked for a volunteer amongst the crowd, she stood a bit taller, then seemed to think better of it.

Silas took her hand and raised it for her.

She looked at him, half-aghast, half-laughing, as one of the magicians made his way over, a stack of cards in hand.

“Pick a card, miss,” the man said, fanning out the deck.

Miss Easton kept her severe but sparkling gaze on Silas a moment longer before relenting.

“Show it to the audience,” the man said, covering his face with his hat as she displayed the ten of hearts to everyone.

He returned his hat to his head and took the card, replacing it in the middle of the deck. He shuffled the cards with great fanfare as he told the audience a joke about an elephant.

Miss Easton’s gaze was fixed determinedly on the cards.

“Now,” said the magician, “let us see about this young lady’s card.” He laid the neat deck on one palm. “It must be here somewhere,” he muttered as he used his free hand to push handfuls of cards off his other hand and onto the flagstone. “No, not that one. Not that one.” Finally, there was but one card left in his hand.

He stared at it with a frown, then tossed the three of clubs onto the flagstones as well. He set his hands on his hips and stared at Miss Easton with exaggerated suspicion.

She stared back at him, looking torn between confusion and disappointment.

His gaze moved to Silas. “Did you steal her card, sir?”

“I did not,” Silas replied.

The magician turned to Miss Easton. “Do we believe him, miss?”

She looked up at Silas, her eyes searching his. She smiled. “I do not see why we should .”

“Nor I,” said the magician, stepping toward Silas. “Sir, may I?” He nodded at Silas’s right tailcoat pocket.

“By all means,” Silas said, moving his arm to grant the man access.

The magician stepped toward him and slipped his hand into the pocket. He fished around a bit despite how shallow it was. Finally, his hand emerged, and he held up the ten of hearts. “Is that your card, miss?”

Miss Easton’s eyes grew large, and she looked at Silas for an explanation as the crowd clapped and cheered.

Miss Fairchild hurried over to them, all smiles. “Did he put you up to that, Mr. Hayes?”

“He must have,” Miss Easton said, still watching him carefully.

“I assure you,” Silas replied, “that I had never seen that man in my life until five minutes ago and never spoken to him until he asked if I had stolen the card—which I had not.” It was a good trick, he had to admit. The magician must have had the card hidden up his sleeve, then let it drop into Silas’s pocket before pulling it out.

The other four began walking toward the market, chattering amongst themselves in an effort to determine how the magician had managed his feat.

“You may tell me the truth, you know,” Miss Easton said in an undervoice as they followed. “I shan’t tell the others.”

Silas chuckled softly. “I was your husband the other night. Today, I am a liar and a coward. Miss Easton, I am positively on tenterhooks to discover what I shall be tomorrow.”

“Who says we shall see each other tomorrow?”

“A terribly boring day it shall be if we do not.” The comment was bordering on flirtatious, but Silas was spared whatever reaction she might have had by their arrival at the market stalls.

Covent Garden was a hive of activity, with shouts and conversation between the vendors and buyers creating a din amongst the rows of stalls piled high with wares. The scent of herbs and the earthy aroma of fruits and vegetables mixed with the smell of freshly baked bread and roasted chestnuts. A wooden flute played somewhere nearby, punctuated by the intermittent squawking of a parrot perched on a man’s shoulder a few stalls away.

Miss Easton’s head moved slowly as her gaze took in the scene, that same fascination in her eyes that was becoming familiar to Silas.

He leaned toward her. “Overwhelmed?”

She looked at him, then straightened slightly. “Not at all.”

Silas suppressed a smile and looked around. “A dead bore, is it not?”

Miss Easton shot him a look that was half-suspicious, half-reproachful. “Not a bore, no.”

“Bella,” Miss Fairchild said, hurrying over. “Did you see the jewelry stand over there? Come. I am in dire need of a new pair of earrings, but you know how indecisive I am.”

The two of them ambled off to the stand, followed by Mrs. Fairchild.

Silas and the others kept near the women, allowing them their freedom while ensuring their safety. Covent Garden drew a vibrant and varied crowd, and Miss Easton’s intent perusal of wares made her a target for pickpockets.

Silas looked casually at a booth of snuffboxes next to the collection of knick-knacks the women were poring over in the next stand. He did not take snuff—the last thing his lungs needed was for him to be inhaling powder—and the vendor became so persistent trying to sell him a box that he moved to the knick-knacks instead.

He came up beside Miss Easton, who was fiddling with a small tin music box, her eyes alight with interest. “Papa bought one of these for my sisters and me, but it was much larger. It is fascinating to see how small it can be while producing such beautiful music.”

“A miniature wonder,” Silas agreed.

She glanced up at him, as though only just realizing to whom she had been speaking. She set the box down.

Silas frowned as she moved farther along the stand. “Tell me, Miss Easton, what it is about my presence that seems to act as a jug of water over the fire of your amazement at interesting things.”

“I cannot think what you mean.” She picked up a gemstone and looked at it for a moment before setting it down again.

“Can you not? I have seen your eyes light up with delight at fireworks, in which you abruptly lost interest when you remembered my presence. The same thing occurred out there with the magician and again just now with that delightful music box. I can only conclude there is something about me that destroys your enchanting enthusiasm. The realization is a great disappointment to me, I assure you.”

Miss Easton turned to him. “It is nothing to do with you.”

“What is it, then?”

Miss Easton’s lips pressed together, as though she was reluctant to answer. “It is my first time to London, sir, and I have a tendency to betray my lack of experience by what you refer to as my enthusiasm ?—”

“Enchanting enthusiasm.”

“—which I have been assured marks me as unsophisticated.”

Silas gave a little scoff. “If the mark of sophistication is for one to be bored by the world’s constant and varied delights, may I never be accused of it.” He picked up a pocket-sized spyglass and put it to his eye, directing his stare at Miss Easton, whose eyes were magnified through the lens.

They wrinkled at the corners, betraying her smile before the pretty laugh that followed it.

He handed her the spyglass. “Rest assured, Miss Easton, that in my presence, you may be as unsophisticated as you please. In fact, as far as I am concerned, the less sophisticated, the better.”

Smiling, she put the spyglass to her eye and regarded him through it.

He clasped his hands in front of him and stood straight. “What do you see?”

There was a pause before she responded.

“Trouble on the horizon.” She lowered the glass and revealed an impish gleam in her eye.

“The only kind of horizon worth chasing,” he replied, picking up an oddity that was shaped similarly to the spyglass.

“Ahh,” said the vendor, who had just finished selling a small almanac to a man. “You have found the most marvelous piece here, sir.”

“Have I?” Silas shot an exaggerated look of self-satisfaction at Miss Easton.

“Yes indeed,” the man replied, motioning for them to come closer as he took one of the same oddities in hand. “It is a marvel of modern science. They call it the kaleidoscope . You simply put it to your eye”—he demonstrated the manner of it—“then look through and turn it slowly.”

Silas handed his kaleidoscope to Miss Easton, who followed the vendor’s instructions.

Her mouth slipped open, and she drew in a sharp breath, then pulled the kaleidoscope away, looking at the man in awe.

The vendor beamed. “Enchanting, is it not?”

Her gaze flicked to Silas at the choice of word, and he smiled.

She looked through it again, the corners of her lips turning up at the sides with pleasure as she slowly rotated the kaleidoscope.

The vendor handed his to Silas, who put it to his eye. The most unique arrangement of colorful shapes met his view, fanning out from the middle in perfect, vibrant symmetry.

He turned the kaleidoscope, and the view shifted as the arrangement changed to something entirely new but every bit as beautiful. With each shift of the kaleidoscope, the view transformed until he finally dropped it from his eye.

Miss Easton was watching him, her own glass lowered. She smiled as their gazes met, and Silas felt that increasingly familiar tug toward her.

“Bella,” Miss Fairchild said, coming up to them. “You must see these fabrics!”

“Have you seen one of these, Felicity?” Miss Easton asked, handing her the kaleidoscope.

Miss Fairchild glanced at it for a moment, her brow pulling together. “Is it a toy?”

Miss Easton’s mouth opened as she seemed to consider this.

“Put it to your eye,” the vendor instructed.

Miss Fairchild took the kaleidoscope and did as instructed, smiling at the view it offered. “Very pretty!” She set it down. “They have the most intoxicating bolt of purple satin. Were you not saying the other day that you wished for precisely that?”

Miss Easton’s gaze went to the kaleidoscope for a moment, but she relented to her cousin’s pull and was soon gone, following her to the stand across the aisle, which was piled high with bolts of fabric.

“Thank you, sir,” Silas said, handing his kaleidoscope to the trinket vendor.

The vendor nodded politely, and Silas made his way to the others. Frederick and Mr. Fairchild were looking at pocket watches near the fabrics, and Silas took a place between them and the women, for he was curious about the fabrics as well.

Despite Miss Fairchild having pulled Miss Easton away from something she had been enjoying, Miss Easton did not seem to resent it. She was every bit as enthusiastic as her cousin.

A quarter of an hour later, she had purchased lengths of three fabrics, along with various ribbons and embellishments to complement them. Silas offered to carry the purchase, while Mr. Fairchild and Frederick carried those of Mrs. and Miss Fairchild.

“I have burdened you like livestock,” Miss Easton apologized to Silas as the group continued down the lane of vendors.

“Nonsense,” Silas said. “All I ask in return is that I be permitted to see the creations that come of it all. I must say, I approve of your choices.”

She shot him an amused glance. “Do you?”

“I do. But given the way you are looking at me, I take it my opinion does not carry the weight it ought to.”

She laughed. “I am willing to be convinced otherwise.”

They stopped while Mrs. Fairchild insisted upon looking at a few rings. “Very well. The pink muslin you chose…it has a nice, tight weave but will still be light enough for summer wear, which I assume is a factor, given the time of year. The dye work is good too, which is more than I can say for the fabrics I noticed at the other stall we passed. And the satin…your cousin spoke truly when she said it was an intoxicating hue. If it was like any of the others I handled, it is a fine weave—smooth and consistent.”

She looked at him with a bit of wonder. “You know fabric well.”

“I made it my business to know,” he said.

“How so?”

“I used to have investments in textiles.” He turned toward the jewelry, for this avenue of conversation was unsafe to pursue.

A shimmering caught his eye, and he looked until he found the source. His lip curled up at the edge. “Look, Miss Easton.” He picked up the small pendant and showed it to her.

Her eyes swept to his.

“A near-perfect match.” Holding the gold loop the pendant was attached to, he used his fingers to gently twist it. The sunlight caught on the wings of a colorful butterfly, making the indigo and emerald shimmer, just as Miss Easton’s mask, domino, and dress had shimmered at Vauxhall.

She touched the pendant with a finger, marveling, and he dropped it into her palm.

“We will take this one,” Silas said to the jeweler, who nodded quickly and put out his hand for the pendant.

“Oh,” Miss Easton said, ceding it to the jeweler. “I couldn’t possibly…”

“Do not be ridiculous.” Silas took a few coins out of his pocket and gave them to the jeweler. “That pendant might have been made with you in mind, Miss Easton. Consider it my apology for abandoning you the other night.”

“You owe me nothing, Mr. Hayes,” she said as the jeweler handed him the pendant, now hanging from a bracelet chain.

“It is the merest trifle,” Silas said.

She hesitated, but her eyes looked at the butterfly hungrily as he dangled it in the air.

He waited a moment, then closed his fingers around it. “Very well. I shall wear it myself, for it deserves to be worn.”

She narrowed her eyes as though she did not believe he truly meant it.

He draped the bracelet over his wrist in response. “Help me with the clasp, would you?” He held out his hand and waited.

When she made no move to assist him, he glanced up at her and raised his brows expectantly.

She gave a little incredulous laugh, then worked at the clasp until the bracelet was secured.

He shook out his wrist and tipped his head to the side to admire it. “Very fetching, I think. The colors complement my knuckles.”

“You are the strangest man, Mr. Hayes,” Miss Easton said, but her smile was wide and amused.

That alone was enough to keep the bracelet on his wrist.