Her Proper Scoundrel (9 page)

“I’ve asked the proprietor for the nearest haberdashery. We’ll find one on Broad Street.” Christopher laid aside his napkin and stood up. “I’ll call the carriage.”

Bristol was a harbor town, its streets cluttered with wagons piled high with lumber, bales of cotton and barrels of rum, along with fine carriages and farmer’s carts. It made for slow going but the window shades were up and she made a game of spotting sailors with Tom and Philip. At length they turned onto Broad Street and pulled up in front of the shop. Christopher stepped out of the carriage and turned to face Josceline.

“Perhaps it would be best for you to wait here,” he said. “I shall take the lads and put them in the charge of the haberdasher.”

However, as soon as the three stepped inside the shop, Christopher could see a battle loomed with the proprietor for the man was none too pleased to see the boys on his premises as evidenced by his lowered eyebrows and jutting jaw.

“Excuse me, sir, those nippers are not welcome here.” With a disdainful sniff, the man tried to usher them out of his shop.

“Come now, where’s the harm?” A surprised Christopher stopped dead in his tracks. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might prove difficult to replace the boy’s clothing.

“The harm is to my other customers.” The man held a scented pomade to his nose and pointed. “They, ah, smell.”

“Your establishment appears to be vacant.” Annoyed, Christopher swept an arm to encompass the room with its shelves of folded shirts, hats, and bolts of fabric.

“I do not deal with riff raff here, my good sir. Please take the children and leave.”

Riff raff. And the man had included him, Christopher, in that statement. His hackles rose and he took a step towards the proprietor, who stood his ground and glared at Christopher through narrowed eyes.

Lud, but he was in no mood to find another shop. And he was in no mood to argue. A tidy sum should quiet the tailor’s fears and he pulled out a sack of coins and tossed them onto the counter with a hearty ‘clink’.

“I believe you will find more than ample to outfit the two. Make it quick and I shall double the remuneration.” Out and out bribery but he had had enough of Bristol and its busyness. Time to venture home to the peace of Midland House.

At the sight of the bulging sack, greed replaced distaste on the man’s face.

“Of course, my good sir, of course.” With an obsequious bow, he backed away and signaled to an assistant. “You heard the gentleman, clothe these two. And shoes, if the gentleman agrees, we’ll send to the cobbler for shoes.”

Christopher nodded. “I have another matter to attend to. I shall return in half an hour.” He stalked out. Already the boys were a bother although in fairness to them, it was the shopkeeper who was the bother.

He ducked into the adjacent shop.
 

Something in the window there had caught his eye and he knew just the person who would like it.

* * *

Grateful for the rest, Josceline leaned back against the squabs and pulled the rug over her knees. She half-drowsed, listening to the sounds of the street outside the carriage – the jingle of harnesses, the shouts of the hawkers and the squeal of children playing, the drifting voices of people walking past. Her hands and feet grew cold. It was chilly close to the water and the wool spencer she wore today did nothing to keep her warm.

Her cloak would have been welcome but after last night’s debacle, it lay crumpled in the bottom of the wardrobe in her room.

Butterflies tumbled in her stomach. Yesterday, it had seemed plausible to find a boy in an orphanage to pass off as Christopher’s son. Today, the reality was so much more complex, starting with the reality they now had two boys. Boys who reeked of urine and coal smoke, boys who needed the attention of a doctor, boys so thin, they would never be mistaken for anything other than what they were – street urchins. The task seemed insurmountable. The only comforting thought was Christopher. He had as much at stake as she did. Surely between the two of them...

 
“Lady Woodsby?”
 

Her eye lids popped open to see Christopher holding a large box and several smaller packages wrapped in brown paper and string. He tossed the packages on the floor but held the large box out to her.

“For you.” A self-deprecating grin lifted the corners of his mouth and her heart lurched. “I saw it in a shop window. I thought it would match your eyes.”

Her gaze dropped to the box, cheerily wrapped in red and blue striped paper and tied up with gold ribbon. A gift? For her? Whatever for?

“Open it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I cannot accept this. It’s not proper.”

“Proper?” He laughed, his eyes crinkled shut in the manner she was beginning to adore. “It’s a gift, how can that not be proper?” He stopped laughing and looked at her.

“Gentlemen do not give gifts to unmarried young ladies.” Josceline made her voice severe. “So no, thank you.”

She cast a longing glance towards the box. It had been ages since she’d received a present and her fingers itched to open it.

“Let us say I’m no gentleman. Does that help?” He held the box out to her again, grinning. “Take it, Lady Woodsby. Consider it as part of your wage.”

The impish grin was her downfall. That and the lock of hair that had escaped the leather thong at the nape of his neck and fallen across his forehead. He looked young and carefree and for an instant she could imagine the boy he had been.

“Oh very well,” she grumped. “Do you always get your way?” She took the box. It was heavy and she almost dropped it.

“Not always.” He reached out a hand to ease the box onto her lap. “But yes when it’s something important.”

She caught her breath at that. He had bought something for her he considered important. Could that mean he cared for her a little?

The box lay across her knees. He watched her and she felt her cheeks redden. Hesitantly, she pulled off the ribbon and lifted the lid.

“Oh,” she gasped.

It was a cloak. The most beautiful cloak she had ever seen, of bronze felted wool and lined with what she was sure was sable.

She lifted her head. “I cannot –.” The words died on her lips at the tender expression on his face.

“You can, Josceline,” he whispered. “And you will.” He lifted it from the box and draped it about her shoulders. “Look in the packages.”

Speechless, she unwrapped them all to discover a matching sable muff and bonnet, and a bolt of satin fabric the color of copper. For a matching dress, of course. Eyes brimming at his thoughtfulness, she raised her gaze to his.

“Thank you. They’re all beautiful.”

“Tom and Philip should be fitted by now.” His voice was brusque but he brushed her cheek with a gentle finger before turning to walk away.

She watched his retreating back, not knowing what to think. Did he really care for her?

Or did he mean to buy another kiss?

* * *

It had cost him a pretty penny but the moment Christopher had seen the cloak in the modiste’s window, he knew he had to buy it. True, the ink stain on her old cloak had not been his fault but he did feel responsible for what happened beneath his roof.

Her reaction pleased him. She had been touched, he was certain of it. Whistling a jaunty tune, he returned to the haberdashery to find the lads looking with astonished faces at each other’s new clothing.

“Tom, Philip, don’t you both look splendid.” They yet needed a bath but they looked a little less disreputable in the new clothing. His hopes rose. Perhaps the deception for Lady Oakland tomorrow would succeed.

“Thank ye, sir. My brother thanks ye too,” Philip said. “Shoes. We ain’t never ‘ad shoes.” Beside him, Tom nodded energetically.

“You are welcome,” replied Christopher. He cocked a finger. “Come.”

Holding hands, they followed him without a word. The three left the shop and waited for a break in the traffic to cross the road to the waiting carriage.

“‘Pon my word, Sharrington, my eyes did not deceive this morning. It was you leaving the Hospital with these motley two. Have you taken up as nursemaid, wot? And where’s the pretty piece of fluff?”
  

The familiar, hated voice grated on Christopher’s ears and he turned to see Lord Oliver Candel, tapping a brass-handled walking stick and regarding them with an insolent sneer from beneath a fashionable beaver hat.

An impotent rage rose within Christopher and he clenched his jaw. This arrogant dandy, decked out in a red and white striped vest, yellow culottes and turquoise tailed coat, was the real reason Christopher found himself in the awkward position he was in.

If the man had paid his debt like an honorable individual, Christopher would never have stopped the wrong carriage, leading to him engaging the services of Josceline as governess.

And if Josceline wasn’t his governess, he would not need a boy to fill the role of his own son. Meaning he wouldn’t now be shepherding two boys who weren’t his to pull off the mad scheme. A scheme which now, thanks to the untimely meeting, could be exposed.

At this particular moment, not even the thought of green eyes and russet hair could soothe him.

Christopher jammed his hands into his pockets to refrain from ripping off Candel’s starched shirt frills and ramming them down his throat.

Chapter Nine

Just a few feet more and Christopher would have had the boys safely ensconced within his carriage. He had to nip this in the bud before Candel came to any conclusions regarding the boy’s parentage.

“Not that it is any concern of yours but I am doing a favor for a friend,” he said haughtily. Traffic eased for a moment and he gave the boys a little nudge. “To the carriage,” he ordered. “I shan’t be a moment.”

He gestured to the coachman to mind the two then turned back to the fop who stood and watched as Philip and Tom dodged across the street.

This wasn’t the time or place he would have chosen to confront the man but he had to divert Candel’s attention from the boys.

“May I remind you, you owe me a gambling debt?” Christopher kept his voice low and ignored the curious glances looking their way.

“Gambling debt? I owe you nothing.”

“Yes. Gambling debt,” he growled, irritated by the man’s drawl. His fingers twitched - he wanted nothing more than to grab Candel’s throat and throttle him.

“Why, from our set to the other night? It was just a friendly game. Consequently,” he tapped Christopher’s shoe with his walking stick, “I do not have to pay you.”

“We shall see.” Christopher ground out the words. He glanced over his shoulder to the waiting carriage. The boys had disappeared inside. “You and I have unfinished business, Candel.” He pulled out a calling card. “Saturday. Expect me on Saturday.”

Rage washed over him anew as Candel took the card between pincered thumb and forefinger as if it carried the Black Death.

“I dare say I may be receiving visitors that day.” Candel tossed the card to the ground and ground his heel on it. “Or not.” He stood there with an expectant look on his face, an insolent smile playing on his greased lips.

The tactic was an obvious ploy for Christopher to call out the man but he would not give Candel the satisfaction of rising to the bait. Christopher’s military training had taught him that in some circumstances, this being one of them, discretion was the better part of valor.

Ignoring the man, he turned on his heel and made his way to the carriage. Luckily the hubbub on the street drowned out Candel’s derisive laughter and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself before opening the door and leaning in.

“I found this in my pocket just now.” He handed Josceline the letter that had been tucked away in his jacket. He had felt its sharp folds when fumbling for his card. “I do apologize, it came yesterday but what with Lady Oakland’s note, I forgot about it.”

“Oh.” Her face was horror struck when he handed it to her - obviously she recognized the hand writing.

“I’m going to sit with the coachman. Take some air.” A good stiff breeze would wash away his rage. Besides, he needed to think ahead to tomorrow’s impending visit from Lady Oakland.

He gestured to Tom and Philip. “You two may sit on my seat.”

Obediently, the two scrambled over. Promising. At any rate, they obeyed orders. He gave them a small salute before slamming shut the door but not before casting a concerned glance towards Josceline.

Her face was drawn, white. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.

“What is it?” he asked, uneasy at her reaction.

“Not of your concern,” Josceline whispered, eyes glued to the envelope. She fluttered a hand in his vague direction. “Please, do not worry for me.”

Mercifully, he didn’t question her further. From a distance Josceline noticed the slam of the coach door, then the creak and sway of the carriage as he swung himself up beside the coachman.

Her head spun. The letter was from her father and she had no desire to read it. He had been none too pleased when she had announced her decision to take herself from London and earn her keep. His rage and disappointment was such she had thought she was lost to him forever, which suited her for it left her free to pursue a future as a governess.