Page 2 of Hearts at Home

2

U pstairs in a little gallery, Chloe watched from behind a balustrade as Captain Finchley approached a woman by the stage. She thought she recognized Doro’s bonnet and pelisse, but when the woman turned so Chloe could see her face, it was a stranger.

The soldiers came, and three of them accosted Captain Finchley and the woman. Chloe’s arms tightened around Rosario until the monkey squeaked. But Captain Finchley gave the leader some papers to read, and then the soldiers drew themselves up straight and saluted.

Chloe apologized to Rosario, patting her down until she realized that the monkey’s jacket was lumpy. With a sinking heart, she investigated the monkey’s pockets, pulling out a cravat pin, a hair pin, a utilitarian brass shoe buckle, an ornate snuff box, and a shiny acorn shape that looked as if it might have come from a watch fob.

Rosario chattered: her ‘I’m a clever monkey’ sound. Chloe wanted to cry.

“What do you have there?” Captain Finchley was looking over her shoulder at the little haul. He whistled. “An enterprising fellow, your monkey.”

“I cannot seem to break her of the habit,” Chloe said. “I have only had her for two weeks, and her former owner trained her to… well, you see.”

“That sounds like a story worth the telling,” Captain Finchley observed, his eyes twinkling.

A clatter on the stairs warned them, and Captain Finchley, without hesitation, swooped up the little haul and deposited it in his coat pocket while turning to face the door.

A burly militia man, two others on his heels, burst into the little space. “Now who have we here?” growled the first man, looming over poor Captain Finchley while Chloe shrank back against the balustrade, cradling Rosario against her chest.

Captain Finchley, who was at least twelve inches shorter than man who glared at him, didn’t budge an inch. He sighed, for all the world as if he was bored beyond belief, flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his sleeve, and handed the man a document. “My credentials, corporal.” His voice changed to the bark of command. “And you two troopers, sheathe those swords before you pink someone.”

The corporal was reading the document, which appeared to be a letter finished with a large seal. When he spoke, it was with a mix of suspicion, resentment, and reluctant respect. “You would be this Captain Lord Diomedes Finchley, then, would you?”

“I have that honour,” the gentleman answered.

“And this Duke of Haverford sent you?”

Captain Finchley tipped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. “Now that you have read the letter, corporal, I will have it back, thank you.” He held out his hand. The corporal hesitated then handed over the letter.

“You’ll have to leave now, sir,” he grumbled. “We are clearing the building.” He turned his attention to Chloe. “You’ll come along with me, Miss. You and that wild beast.”

He took a step forward but no further. Captain Finchley had put out an arm to stop him. “Miss Tavistock is with me, corporal. Get about your business, now.”

They glared at one another, but the corporal’s eyes fell first. He growled a wordless complaint and led the other two militia men away.

“Oh!” Chloe exclaimed. “I have to find my sister!”

Captain Finchley’s eyes widened. “Your sister is here, too?”

Had he forgotten already? “Doro. Miss Bigglesworth.”

“Ah! Miss Bigglesworth. I am told a lady meeting that description was escorted away by a clerical gentleman. I expect she will be relieved when you arrive home safely.”

“Oh, we don’t live together. I live with my brother, and Doro is staying with her stepmother. Our stepmother, I suppose, except Patience married my stepfather after I had already gone to live with my great-uncle.”

“Another interesting story, I perceive. But perhaps we could save it to beguile the walk back to wherever it is your brother resides?” He held out his hand to help her up. “Do you have a leash for your little furry friend?”

“No. She chewed through it. That’s why I had her in the basket, but she has chewed through the ribbon keeping it shut.”

“Perhaps my handkerchief might do service at least until we are safely out of here.”

He threaded the handkerchief through the slot in the basket, then helped Chloe tuck a protesting Rosario inside before inserting a corner of the handkerchief through the slot in the lid and tying a firm knot.

“I’ll just leave the monkey’s little hoard at the bottom of the stairs.” Captain Finchley put the items down one by one, artistically scattering them as if they had been dropped in a hurry. “I daresay someone will think it his lucky day when he comes across them, but at least you and I shall not be arrested for being accessories to a monkey, which would be exceedingly embarrassing, do you not think?”

He offered Chloe his arm. He escorted her straight past the groups of militiamen who were roaming the hall and out into the street.

“I was so afraid when those men threatened you,” said Chloe. “They were so large!”

“Yes, but that made it easier,” Captain Finchley assured her. “I was at the right height to bite their…” his eyes slid sideways to meet hers and he grinned before finishing, “knees.”

Chloe wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought he was being naughty. Still, she chuckled even as she blushed.

“I was never in danger,” he added, sounding serious again, though his eyes still danced. “I am their superior officer. Or, at least, I was. Haverford said he’d put my rank in his letter in case I needed to throw my weight around. The extra gilt on the shoulders makes me a little heavier, you see, and when you’re my size, you need all the help you can get. It’s not really my rank any longer, though. I’ve sold out.”

“What should I call you, then? Lord Finchley?”

“Good heavens, no. I’m a younger son—and not really even that, except by grace and favour. Except I am, but… That’s another story, but hardly one fit for a lady’s ears. I don’t suppose you could call me Dom?”

“I could not. I barely know you, Lord Diomedes.”

“If you must lord me, could it not be Lord Dom? Please? Diomedes sounds like a very stern fellow.” He flattened his mouth into a sour line and furrowed his brow. “Monkey? A monkey is not a pet for a lady. Humph.”

“You sound just like my Uncle Swithin,” Chloe observed.

“One of those is he? A joy leech?”

Chloe had to chuckle. “That is just the word! He was a joy leech!”

“He is dead, then, your Uncle Swithin?”

“A year ago. More. It must be sixteen months, now.” She and Aunt Swithin had been out of their blacks for Christmas.

“I am sure propriety demands that I now express my sympathy for your sorrow,” Lord Dom observed, “but I have known too many joy leeches in my life to do any such thing.”

Chloe couldn’t agree more. “It is a terrible thing to say, and I am sure it makes me a very bad person, but after the first shock, I felt so much lighter! Martin—he is my brother—Martin is not very good at fun, and he worries a lot, but he does at least like me to be happy. Uncle Swithin thought we should all be miserable, for life is a vale of tears, and it would be irreligious of us to enjoy ourselves.”

“I am quite certain Uncle Swithin was wrong,” Lord Dom. “I may not always have been attentive during regimental services, but I am sure I can remember the chaplain exhorting us to rejoice, like good Christians. Perhaps Uncle Swithin didn’t read the Bible?”

“Oh, he did, all the time. He had favourite passages.”

Lord Dom pulled a face and nodded. “Which he read over and over, and used to justify puffing himself up in his own consequence.” He nodded again. “I know the sort.”

Chloe giggled, for Lord Dom was exactly right.

“And was Aunt Swithin another joy leech? Was there an Aunt Swithin?”

“There still is,” Chloe assured him. “She is my chaperone.” She paused doubtfully. “Only she has digestive troubles. She also sleeps all the time, and she forgets things.”

“The best kind of chaperone,” Lord Dom assured her, and added, “I dare say after being married to Uncle Swithin she has had all the joy leeched out of her.”

“I used to think so,” Chloe told him, “but I think she was just hiding it.” She and Aunt Swithin had celebrated last Christmas with all the traditional activities, food, and trimmings, none of which Uncle Swithin had permitted. Martin had made no objection, had commented the house looked nice, and had even purchased a Twelfth Night gift each for her and Aunt Swithin.

“She can be rather startling in her opinions,” Chloe added.

“Opinions are new to her, I imagine, so she is trying as many as she can.” Lord Dom sounded as if he knew all about the Uncle Swithins of the world.

“You are rather wise, Lord Dom,” Chloe said.

Lord Dom’s eyes twinkled, and he winked one eye. “I do apologize. I didn’t mean to be wise.”

They turned into the street where Martin had taken a house. Chloe was still laughing at Lord Dom’s apology when she heard her name shouted.

“Chloe Tavistock!”

* * *

This, Dom suspected, was the stern brother. Several years younger and at least half a foot taller than Dom, he was bearing down on them at speed, his face drawn into such lines of fury that Dom half expected him to be blowing steam out of his nose.

“Oh dear. Martin is not pleased,” Chloe commented. She looked concerned but not alarmed, and Dom informed his battle-ready body it could stand down. Clearly, she did not expect physical retribution from her brother. Still, Dom would stay until he was sure that Tavistock would not harm her.

Tavistock didn’t seem to see Dom, all his ire focused on his sister. The monkey in its basket reacted to Tavistock’s baritone rant, its nervous chitter providing a falsetto counterpoint.

“Chloe! I was just coming to look for you. Lady Dorothea was so worried. How could you go to that infernal meeting when I expressly forbade it? Are you hurt? Did anyone offer you insult? Aunt Swithin is beside herself! I could throttle you. I really could. When I think what could have happened…”

Dom relaxed when Tavistock asked about his sister’s well-being before the extravagant threat that was clearly nothing more than relief for his feelings. Chloe apparently thought so, too, for she ignored the risk to her pretty neck, saying. “Doro and I were separated, but Lord Dom found out she had been escorted safely away. Has she sent a message, Martin? I should let her know I am safe. Martin, this is Lord Dom. He rescued me, and insisted on escorting me home. Lord Tavistock, Lord Dom Finchley.” She turned to Dom, her brow furrowed, and her upper teeth worrying her plump lower lip. “Should I have said ‘Lord Diomedes’?”

“Please don’t,” Dom told her, offering Tavistock his hand to shake and bowing slightly. “Pleased to meet you.”

Tavistock looked nothing like his sister. He was tall, slender, and dark-haired with grey eyes, whereas she was short and curvaceous with light brown hair and eyes that were deep pools of chocolate. But something about the expression as he frowned at Dom gave them a family resemblance.

“I am grateful to you, my lord. She should not have been there.” His frown deepened. “Did she go with you?”

“Martin! I went with Doro. I only met Lord Dom when he put himself between me and some men who were fighting, and not paying attention to bystanders. And then he stopped the soldiers from taking me away for questioning.”

The starch went out of Tavistock as he and Dom exchanged a glance full of knowledge about the worse things that might have happened to an unprotected lady in such a crowd. “I am grateful to you,” Tavistock said, sounding sincere this time.

“She was easy to rescue,” Dom assured him. “She kept her head, which is more than many ladies would have done.”

“She’s got bottom,” Tavistock grumbled. “Too much, sometimes. Come on home, Chloe. Doro is waiting to make sure that you are well.”

“I’ll leave you to your brother, Miss Tavistock,” Dom said. “May I have the honour of knowing which house is yours? With Lord Tavistock’s permission, I should like to call tomorrow to see how you and your hairy friend have recovered from your adventure.”

Tavistock raised his eyebrows at the ‘hairy friend’ crack, then saw that Dom’s eyes were focused on the basket. “Infernal monkey,” he muttered. “We are at number nine, Lord Diomedes. Thank you, again. Come on, Chloe.”