Page 7 of Lady Isla and the Lord of Rogue (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #6)

“So you can share the umbrella with her in the eventuality that it does rain!”

“But the sun was shining brightly and there was not a speck of a cloud in the sky! Why the deuce would she need an umbrella?”

Isla threw up her hands. “Forget the umbrella! Of course it was not about the rain at all.”

“You are just like the MPs I have to argue with daily. You’re making less and less sense, saying one thing, meaning another, and contradicting yourself in a single sentence. Just like Lady Redgrave.” He huffed.

“Algie.” Isla schooled herself to be patient. “A lady like Catherine can hardly say to a man like you, ‘My lord, will you spend some of your precious time with me and take a walk with me through the park? I would dearly love to take a walk with you.’ This, Algie, is what she really meant to say.”

Algie blinked. “Then why didn’t she just say so to begin with?”

“Because she can’t!”

“Why ever not, by Jove’s beard?”

“Because she is a lady! We ladies can’t possibly take the initiative and issue invitations to gentlemen.

It is most excessively improper, irksome as it is!

We must always wait for the gentleman to take the initiative.

I can’t tell you how exasperating that is.

I shall enjoy very much not having to do so anymore, now that I am engaged to Linwood.

But that is neither here nor there. And secondly, it is because you are you, because of your person!

You are far too important. You can’t just ask the Home Secretary to take a stroll with you through St James’ Park. It just isn’t done.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “So, you are saying it was not about the rain at all, but merely an excuse. And that she wanted us to take a walk together. How excessively…confusing. How is one ever to understand the double meaning of things?”

“Practice, dear Algie, practice. If you would but speak more often to the opposite sex, you would learn that things, in fact, aren’t all that complicated at all. But it is something which you obstinately refuse to do.”

“I do not like small talk. Particularly with the opposite sex,” Algie mumbled. “I simply do not know how to do it.”

“True. Though I must say,” Isla said more generously, “if one considers that fact, you did very well, to be sure. You uttered two grammatically correct sentences to Catherine. That is so much better than the animalistic grunt you uttered last week, at the charity ball that she organised, when she asked you whether you enjoyed yourself and liked the ball. Truly, you hurt her feelings. Today, you actually spoke like a civilised human being. So very well done, Algie. Remarkably so.” She clapped.

Algie gave her an exasperated look. “I’d better stick to my work. That at least is something I understand.”

“Yes.” Isla chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Say, Algie. About that man, Lucian Night. Why don’t you simply have him arrested? Wouldn’t that solve all the criminal problems we have and clear the city of crime?”

He folded his hands on his stomach in front of him. “If only it were that easy. Night is as elusive as a shadow, one moment here, the other gone. He was caught once. Do you know the story? You may have been too young to remember.”

Isla leaned forward. “The one where they hanged him, but he somehow escaped? I thought that was merely a legend.”

“It was true. Ten or so years ago, he was caught, put on trial, sentenced to be executed to be hanged until dead. On the day of his execution, all of London came to watch the event. The executioner did his job, and the man swung from the gallows. It was a short drop.”

Isla pushed the plate away, suddenly having lost her appetite. “And?”

He shrugged. “When they cut him down, they discovered he was still alive.”

“Good heavens.”

“Precisely. You wouldn’t believe the uproar it created.

The crowd clamoured for him to be pardoned.

Which the Home Office eventually agreed to.

Fearing the crowd’s anger, and with all the political upheaval going on in the country, riots and what not, it was what they decided to do.

I would never have done it, of course, if they had asked me.

” Algie shrugged. “But I was not Home Secretary back then.”

“And what happened afterwards?” Isla asked, breathless.

“He turned into a legend overnight. Disappeared, and when he reappeared, he was even more powerful than before. Brought the entire underworld under his command, of which he is now the self-appointed overlord.”

“Until you catch him.” Isla propped both elbows on the table thoughtfully. “Which you undoubtedly will, sooner or later.”

“That much is certain. But it isn’t so easy.

The world of crime isn’t as organised as one would believe it is.

There are hundreds of gangs, not all of them allied, many fighting each other, with new ones being created daily.

They have one thing in common: they all swear allegiance to Lucian Night.

With the exception of one, and one only: the Mudlark Skulls. ”

“The Mudlark Skulls! Who are they?”

“Pirates and smugglers who are involved with a pernicious human trafficking ring who appeared suddenly on the Thames. They steal people from the streets and sell them as slaves in the new world. They are the only ones who are currently challenging Lucian Night’s authority.

Aren’t you reading the papers? They’re full of this. ”

“Why read the papers when I can get everything directly from the source?” Isla retorted sensibly.

Algie got up. “This is, at any rate, what occupies me the most these days. While Night is kept busy with the pirates, his attention is elsewhere. This is a good time for us to strike.”

“And then he will be hanged. Again.” Isla tilted her head. “I wonder whether he will stay dead this time.”

“That, my dear Pixiekins, is a given.” And with a nod, Algie left the room.

Lord Thaddaeus Linwood was waiting for her in the hallway—again.

Again, he held flowers in his hand.

This time, they were pink carnations. “They stand for affection and deep admiration,” Linwood told her as he handed her the bouquet with a flourishing bow. “Says the flower vendor.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She smelled the bouquet before handing them to the footman to put into a vase. “You have appeared in the timeliest manner, today,” she told him as she put on her bonnet. “Let us go on a ride together?”

“Gladly.” He beamed at her.

Isla gave instructions to the coachman, then Linwood helped her into the carriage. “Thank you, my lord.”

Linwood looked at her shyly. “Don’t you think, now that we are to marry, that you could call me something else, maybe? Please call me Thaddaeus.”

“Thaddaeus.” She tried the name on her lips. Then she shook her head. “No. It is far too serious a name for you. I’d call my grandfather Thaddaeus, but not my betrothed. Don’t you have anything less formal? Any nicknames?”

He pushed up the spectacles on his nose. “Nicknames?”

“Yes, you know—my brother has several nicknames, even. Other than ‘Bloodhound of Whitehall’ and ‘Deathmark’. ‘Windy’—short form for Wynthorpe. I call him Algie, even though his name is Algernon. But it’s too much of a mouthful, so nicknames are perfect for names like these.”

“My classmates at Eton used to call me Woody,” he said with some hesitation. “But I don’t like it at all. It was always followed by the sensation of having my head dunked into a chamber pot. ‘Woody look!’ and then—” He made the motion of having his face pushed into a chamber pot.

“They did not!” Isla exclaimed. “How horrid of them! Is this the life you had at Eton?”

He shrugged. “I survived it.”

Isla gave him a pitying look. “Did you never defend yourself?”

“I did,” he nodded. “I became good at running away. I became so good at it, I was the fastest runner in the entire school.”

Isla could imagine it. A little, younger version of Linwood, scrawnier, being chased around the courtyard by a group of bullies…

She shook her head. “But we were discussing nicknames. You are right, I can hardly call you Woody, or Linnie.” She pulled a face. “Don’t you have other kinds of nicknames? Affectionate ones.”

He shook his head.

“I see I shall have to invent one, then.” She thought for one moment. “Thaddaeus. Thad. Tad. Ted.” She pursed her lips. “None of that fits. Ted, maybe. Ah! I have it! Teddy.”

“Teddy?” His face was so comical, she burst into laughter.

“Yes, Teddy is perfect. It suits you perfectly. I shall call you Teddy. In private only, of course. In public you shall be Linwood, prim and proper as always. And you may come up with a nickname for me as well.”

He stared at her. “Isla. It is a beautiful name. I couldn’t possibly call you anything else. It is sacrilege."

“Pooh. How unimaginative you are. Algie calls me Pixiekins.”

“Pixiekins,” he exclaimed. “Truly? A mythological being?”

Isla burst into laughter. “Not exactly, but an invented one. He meant to suggest something small, quick, maybe mischievous.”

“Hm. Like an insect.” He made a thoughtful face. “I shall have to come up with something similar, then.”

He pondered on the matter during the entire carriage ride.

“I have it! How about book louse? The plural being book lice, but since there is only one of you…” His voice petered off.

“Book louse? As a nickname? It is hardly affectionate, don’t you think?”

“I suppose not. I was thinking because you like books…”

Isla pulled a face.

“What about earwig? Or mantis. There are also chequered beetles—” he said eagerly.

“No insects,” Isla interrupted hastily. “Please.”

“I shall have to think about it and come up with something affectionately appropriate that you, too, will like,” he said as the carriage came to a halt.

“Do so, Teddy,” Isla said. “Though it is quite acceptable if you just keep on calling me Isla. Shall we, then?” The footman opened the door, and she descended from the carriage.

“Lovely weather today,” Teddy said, cheerfully offering Isla his arm. “Perfect for a stroll.”

“Quite so,” Isla retorted, taking his arm with one hand and gripping her umbrella tightly in the other.

“Let us take a stroll, then. There is an incredibly rare clock in this neighbourhood that I’d like to show you.

I think you’ll find it quite fascinating,” she said as she directed him into the heart of the rookery that was St Giles.