Page 2 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock (The Rogue’s Alliance #3)
M arch 1817, London
“And you’re sure the gold clock will be at the auction?” Cecil asked his employee, Mr. Bones.
“I’ve had confirmation of what Quinn overheard.” The older man paused. “The Irishman wants back in your good books, my lord.”
“He’s got a long way to go,” he replied curtly. The red-bearded Irishman known as Quinn had been an excellent informant at one time until his obsession with a doxy in the employ of the Rogue’s Alliance got the better of him.
Seated on a leather armchair in his drawing room at number four Curzon Street, Cecil adopted a bland expression. He didn’t want Bones to know how desperately he needed that clock.
“Anything else, my lord?”
He shook his head. “That’s all for now, Bones.”
When the man had departed, Cecil let out a long breath. That clock was the key he needed to break the Rogue’s Alliance. It had been three years since his brother’s murder. Cecil had spent those years chasing down members of the alliance only to discover none of the operatives he encountered knew a thing about the clocks.
Soon after his brother’s death, Cecil resigned from his position with the Home Office. His job had been to ensure commerce thrived in the UK during the recent wars. With the country at peace, he felt he’d done his duty, and now he would concentrate on finding his brother’s killer.
Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary, had made his decision to leave the Home Office much easier. Cecil had maintained there was more to his brother’s stabbing than mere chance. Sidmouth disagreed and would hear nothing of Cecil pursuing the matter.
Cecil trusted few people enough to share information about his quest to dismantle the RA, and he’d not told another soul about the importance of the Roman mythology clocks.
He employed four servants: Bones, his elderly butler Acker, a maid of all work, and his cook. It was a stretch to call Jameson a cook, and a lucky thing Cecil didn’t entertain as he wouldn’t be able to provide a meal fit to feed a guest. His butler had once resided in gaol, as did the maid Eliza and his cook. All three had proved useful, their ties to the darker side of society a boon when hunting members of the RA.
As things now stood, his staff owed him a great deal as they had little to do caring for him and were, in exchange, well-fed and well-housed.
As for Bones? The man had been a smuggler during the wars before Cecil’s friend Lord Ashford convinced him to be an informant for the Foreign Office. When the marquess spied the man in London a few months ago looking for work, Ashford rightly determined the smuggler’s skill set would beinvaluable toCecil. Bones could blend in anywhere, and he wasparticularlyskilled at intelligence gathering amongst the staff of a London household.
Cecil looked about him at the room he’d furnished himself. The space, elegant yet masculine, was also used as a study and library. After all this time, the tiny townhouse still didn’t feel like home. What was home? His estate in Yorkshire?
His remaining brother, David, was the vicar of Wycliffe village near the family estate. Cecil gave his youngest brother the living soon after their eldest brother died.
“Thank you, Wycliffe.” David had been only nineteen years of age and eager to marry after his period of mourning was over.
“Do not call me Wycliffe,” he replied softly. “That was our brother. I will never be him. You may refer to me as Cecil or Lord Cecil.”
His mother threw up her hands. “My son, you are the new viscount. Wycliffe is now your name.”
“It is one I don’t deserve, Mother. He was the best of us.”
She had said no more. Whether she’d come to agree or whether she knew how stubborn her middle son could be, they never discussed the matter again. It had taken time, but he'd grown accustomed to being addressed as Viscount Wycliffe.
For a moment, he wished his friend Ashford were not at his country estate, but Ashford’s wife would soon give birth. Charlotte had been kind to him, and he would not cause her any worry while she was in a delicate condition.
His other friend from Eton, Baron Nathaniel Harbury, was returned to Town and recently married. Nathaniel’s wife Edith, along with Charlotte and their friend Louisa, knew quite a bit about the RA, having been involved in a few skirmishes with the alliance.
The RA had infiltrated all levels of society. Recently, Nathaniel had exposed a high-ranking Bow Street Runner as a member of the alliance. The runner, Black Jack Henley, had disappeared along with the Assistant Chief Magistrate, another RA member outed by Black Jack himself.
The house around him was quiet, the only sound coming from the pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth as he rose to his feet and walked to the drawing room door. After locking the door, he turned to a low-slung mahogany dresser upon which rested a drinks tray. Pulling one end of the dresser away from a paneled wall, he pushed against a piece of the wood paneling near the floor, and it swung open.
In a compartment behind the panel rested an ebony box that held a gold clock. It was one of a pair made by the French clockmaker Gaston Jolly. Tales about the pair of clocks described them as carriage clocks, but in reality,the clock he now possessed wasa mantel clock.To Cecil, it was a treasure beyond price: One half of the key to bringing about the downfall of the Rogue’s Alliance.
* * * * *
“E dith!” Louisa rushed forward to grasp her friend’s hands. “Thank goodness you’re here!”
The lady in question, a full head shorter than Louisa, replied with a grin, “Nothing too dreadful could have occurred before I arrived.”
“I’ll tell you what is dreadful. My mother would have pressed all four of my brothers into escorting me this evening if they'd not been warned by Leopold and made themselves scarce.”
“I would offer to chaperone you for the season if I thought your mother would allow it,” Edith replied.
Louisa winked at her friend. “I’ve thought of a way to convince her. We tell my mother you were instrumental in bringing Charlotte and Ashford together and that once you set your cap for Nathaniel, he was helpless against your charms. She will surely see you as an incomparable matchmaker and the perfect chaperone.”
“That might just work.” Edith squeezed Louisa’s hands and released them.
“Where is your husband?” she asked, looking about the ballroom.
“Speaking with Lord Kettering about a bill.”
“And you’re not listening in?” she asked with a raised brow.
“Nathaniel knows my opinion on the legislation.”
She couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Of course he does.”
Edith tapped her friend on the arm with her fan. “At least your mother cannot fault your appearance, Louisa. You are looking your best this evening.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “My parents have spared no expense on my wardrobe, hoping it will bring about a grand match this season.”
Louisa’s gown of white gauze over a maiden blush slip was exquisitely demure, trimmed in a garland of taffeta flowers with white satin draperies above. Her copper-colored hair, dressed low to the sides, pulled high from behind, sported a wreath of French roses to match the trim of the ball gown. Simple pearl jewelry, white kid gloves, and satin dancing shoes completed her ensemble.
“A gentleman approaches,” Edith said quietly, gazing at something behind Louisa.
“Perhaps the gentleman will ask you to dance.” She shuddered. “Is it that squat baron?”
“Huzzah! Right in one.”
There was nothing for it; Louisa would dance with the man if only to convince her mother Edith was a positive influence in her hunt for a husband.
The squat baron was a passable dancer. Louisa was not known for her womanly graces, but she could dance. She recalled that even the stuffy Lord Wycliffe had mentioned her gracefulness while dancing to her friends.
Lord Wycliffe . The handsomest man she had ever met and the most irritating. She hadn’t seen him since Edith’s Christmastide wedding in the country, a gathering he attended for a mere two days. So obsessed with the Rogue’s Alliance that he’d only been able to leave London for a short time, he’d braved muddy, nearly impassable roads to return to Town.
“You are as lovely as ever, Lady Louisa,” the baron said haltingly, gasping from the exertion of a country dance.
“Thank you , Lord Danner , and may I say you are truly dazzling in your waistcoat,” she replied, although the salmon color of his vest was an assault to the eyes.
The man smiled but did not speak. She wondered if he lacked breath for a response at present.
The set was long, and she took pity on her dance partner. “Lord Danner, I am feeling a bit fatigued. Might we resign from the dance for refreshment?”
Louisa was afraid the man would collapse if he danced further, and if she was involved in a scandal, no matter how slight, her mother would surely blame her.
After the baron escorted her to the edge of the dance floor and proceeded to the refreshment table, she looked about for Edith, but her friend was across the room speaking with someone.
“You danced with Lord Danner without being coerced,” her brother said from close beside her.
Louisa jumped, swallowing her irritation; her eldest brother Leopold was forever sneaking up on her. If she wanted Edith to be her chaperone this season rather than Leopold, she would have to convince her brother she was open to finding a husband.
“Edith suggested that although I do not see the baron as a marriage prospect, I should make myself appear more approachable by accepting his invitation to dance.”
“Excellent advice,” her brother replied smoothly. “The lady did make a brilliant match.”
To her relief, she spied Edith walking around the edge of the dance floor toward them.
“Leopold!” Edith smiled briefly at Louisa’s companion. “As delighted as I am to see you, your presence beside your sister might drive away possible suitors.”
He frowned. “Drive them away?”
“It is well known that you and your brothers are highly respected amongst the ton as sportsmen. That and your elevated rank might intimidate some of the young bucks.”
“I hadn’t considered that possibility,” he replied thoughtfully.
“You should.” Edith added softly, “Lord Danner cannot hope to measure up to you or your brothers.”
“Perhaps I will speak to Lord Sidmouth on the other side of the ballroom.” Leopold sketched a shallow bow and walked away.
“You are a genius!” She grinned at her friend.
“Lord Danner is returning,” Edith replied.
“Don’t leave me. Please. I’m afraid he means to propose to me again.”
Louisa accepted a glass of lemonade from Lord Danner as the gentleman greeted Edith. Edith’s own baron, Nathaniel, approached, and Louisa nodded to him.
“Lord Harbury, how lovely to see you.” She jerked her head ever so slightly toward the other couples dancing.
Nathaniel must have understood the movement as he asked, “Shall we take to the floor, Lady Louisa?”
“Oh yes! I feel much refreshed now. Excuse me, Lord Danner.” She handed her glass of lemonade to Edith, took Nathaniel’s arm, and walked to where couples had lined up for a country dance. “Thank you, Nathaniel! You are a true hero.”
The gentleman grinned. “Edith asked me to come to your rescue if need be this evening.”
Louisa wasn’t surprised at the gesture as Edith was the kindest, most thoughtful person she knew. Growing up with four older brothers, Louisa wondered if their influence had made her less of a gentle soul. Not inclined to introspection, she was determined to think of something else.
Lord Harbury had seemed dull to her before she’d come to know him better last season. His sunny demeanor had been a ruse to hide the guilt and despair he felt over having survived the wreck of the HMS St. George when so many of his former shipmates perished. With the love and support of Edith, she believed he’d finally found a measure of peace and happiness.
When they finished the set, and Nathaniel escorted her back to where Edith stood, it was to find her friend no longer with the squat baron but a tall, handsome viscount: Lord Wycliffe.