Elizabeth hesitated in the hallway outside the breakfast room. She'd managed to avoid questions and prodding from Aunt June the previous evening by claiming a headache and going straight to bed upon arriving home. She knew, however, that there would be an interrogation at breakfast, and she wasn't really ready for it.
Aunt June, of course, was already seated and eating when Elizabeth entered the room — as she was every day, no matter how early Elizabeth managed to rise. She sometimes wondered if the other woman slept at all.
She managed to keep her heartfelt sigh on the inside as she walked to the sideboard to pour a cup of tea.
"Good morning, Aunt."
"Ah, Elizabeth." Aunt June smiled in welcome across the table as Elizabeth took her seat. "How are you feeling this morning, my dear?"
"Much better, thank you, Aunt," Elizabeth said. "I believe I was merely overtired."
"I'm glad to hear that," the older woman replied, then her expression settled into something more serious. "You left the ballroom last night with Lord Blackwood."
The word unchaperoned hung in the air, although it remained unsaid. Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes with some difficulty.
"We stepped briefly onto the terrace for a breath of air," she explained. "Lord Blackwood wished to express his condolences."
A slight alteration of actual events, perhaps, but one that should forestall a scolding and a lecture on proprieties. Indeed, June's expression softened almost immediately.
"That was very kind of his lordship," she remarked. She hesitated a moment, then continued. "I was surprised that you recognized him so easily, Eliza — after all, you were quite a small child the last time the two of you met."
That last seemed to have a touch of a question to it, as if June was wondering if there was something that she didn't know, but should.
"That's true," Elizabeth agreed. "But he and Papa kept up a lively correspondence always, and Papa spoke of him often. I don't think I could have forgotten him, even had I wanted to."
June seemed to accept this, although it didn't really explain how Elizabeth had known him so easily, by sight alone. She herself had no explanation, so it was just as well that the question remained unasked.
"He seems to be doing well," June said thoughtfully, distracted from her questions. "Poor man, he withdrew from Society completely after he lost his wife and child. It was widely thought he'd never return to Town."
June's words reminded Elizabeth of something she'd forgotten; of the tragedy in Blackwood's life. She remembered the tersely worded, yet still emotional letter that Sam had received after the tragic event. For a long time, his letters had been short and somehow dull, as if the fever that took the lives of his loved ones had taken the life from him, as well.
She also remembered, with a flush of regret, how she had thrown his sympathy back in his face the previous evening — if anyone could have any idea how she was feeling now, it was he. She wished she could track him down that very instant to apologize for her hasty words.
Since such a thing was patently impossible, she had to content herself with a silent promise to do so the very next time she encountered him.
She waited for Tom in the study, taking some pleasure in sitting at her papa's desk, surrounded by his things. She thought she could still smell a hint of his pipe tobacco in the air; it made her smile wistfully. She lost herself in reminiscences, enough so that when Tom came in, the click of the door quite startled her.
"Miss Scott," the young man said, striding forward quickly to greet her. "If I may say, you make a fair morning much lovelier."
She laughed at him as he bowed low over her hand.
"Don't be stuffy with me, Tom, I beg of you. I had quite enough of company manners last night."
He was grinning at her when he rose, the customary mischief back in his bright blue eyes. "Don't tell me your first night out was dull," he said, with mock surprise.
"Interminable," she replied, rolling her eyes expressively. "We went to three parties, Tom, and I declare there cannot be a single person in the entire ton with an individual thought in their head."
"I'm sure they were one and all merely struck dumb by your beauty," he teased.
"What utter nonsense," she scoffed. "Simply a pack of absolute bores, I assure you. Oh," she continued, thinking of something, "thank you so much for the posey, Tom. It added the perfect touch."
"A mere token," he replied — but he looked extremely pleased. "Since I could not be by your side in person."
"It would have been nice to have a friend with me," she said, with an answering smile. "Although, I did run into an old friend of Papa's at the Harrington's — he's back in town unexpectedly, and sought me out there."
"That must have been a welcome relief," Tom offered, but his tone had cooled.
She really must remember that Tom tended to be touchy about her mentioning other friends, preferring the brief times they were able to spend together be kept for just the two of them. She couldn't afford to alienate him — not if he was to be her sole ally in her quest.
"It was just a brief meeting," she said quickly. "A friendly face, that's all. May I ask — did you manage to bring the things we spoke about last week?"
Tom frowned now, clearly reluctant. "I wish you'd reconsider your plans, Elizabeth," he said earnestly. "Or at least postpone them until I am able to accompany you."
"Two people would attract far more attention than just me," she said quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was wait. "I intend to be just a part of the background, completely unworthy of notice."
Tom handed her the satchel he carried with a sigh. "I don't like it," he said. "You could get hurt."
"I'll be fine," she insisted. "Honestly, you worry more than Aunt June."
He laughed at that, some of the brightness coming back into his expression. "I can't help it," he said. "I really don't think you have the faintest idea how vulnerable you are in the city. I believe your time abroad has given you a false sense of security. Things are much different here, you know. Just…be very careful, will you?"
She rolled her eyes at him, sparkling with laughter. "Yes, Tom, I'll be careful," she parroted.
"And let me know how it goes — I'll try to stay until you get back, but if I can't, you must send me a message."
She relented — his concern was so genuine, and she knew her plans were not, in fact, without risk. "I will," she promised, reaching out and squeezing his hand briefly. "Thank you, Tom."
She rushed out of the study then, eager to get on with things. Tom watched her go, worry etched on his face.
Raymond strolled along the line of stalls at Tattersall's. His mind wandered miles away from his appointed task — finding a mount for this time spent in Town. Since the previous evening, he had not been able to shake his encounter with the lovely Elizabeth Scott from his mind.
Her luminous beauty, her slender grace, her genuine enthusiasm. Her flashing anger when he'd disappointed her. She was an enchantingly mercurial creature.
He meant to call on her soon, talk to her, try to understand why she was so convinced that Sam's death had been unnatural. But to do so immediately after singling her out at his first rout would cause entirely too much talk. So he had to wait a day or two, and try to banish the image of her from his brain in the meantime.
A quiet cough from behind his shoulder drew him from his reverie. "Well, then," he said, turning to his companion. "Do you see a likely beast?"
Dembe indicated the stall on the right with a tip of his head. "The Arabian there looks well-built," he said. "And solid-tempered, as well."
Raymond walked closer to look the stallion over. It did appear to be a fine animal, and he appreciated once more the intelligence and insight of the man beside him. Not merely a companion, but a friend. Although he had once worked for Raymond, he had quickly become something more of a partner. Together for many years, Dembe had been pleased to accompany Raymond back to England.
"A likely specimen, to be sure," he said aloud. "But I think I'd like to wander a bit more before making any decisions."
They walked on, stopping occasionally to greet an acquaintance. Raymond wasn't keen on social chatter, in particular, but he did recognize the value of maintaining at least moderately friendly terms with his peers. He was also in a better mood than he'd been in the previous night, more settled and enjoying the open air, the scents and sounds of the horses. The charming incongruity of fine gentlemen parading alongside the grubby stable boys that dashed here and there.
One such specimen caught his eye — whether due to the layers of dirt that coated him, or the way he stood still, lingering behind a pair of gentlemen, he couldn't say. Since he recognized one of the men in question, he strode their way to say hello and get a better look.
"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," he said smoothly, with his most polished smile. "Cooper, it's a pleasure to see you again." From the corner of his eye, he noticed the boy stiffen — he was tall, for stable work, and Raymond wondered how old he was.
"Reddington!" Cooper exclaimed, shaking hands enthusiastically. "Good grief, it's been years! I hadn't heard you were in Town."
Curiously, as Cooper started speaking, the lad turned on his heel and dashed away, looking oddly graceful in flight. A twinge of recognition nagged at the edge of his mind, and it was only a nudge from Dembe that recalled him to the moment and made him realize he'd entirely missed the introduction to Cooper's friend.
Giving himself a hard mental shake, he enjoyed a short conversation with the two men. Cooper recommended a yearling bay a little further down the row, so he headed that way to have a look. Before he saw the horse, however, he spotted what he was certain was the same boy, following a foppish-looking fellow down the row.
There was something about the lad, beyond the dirt and strange behaviour. His clothes were ill-fitting in an odd way — both too large and too small, in various places. Raymond watched as the boy slunk behind the parading fop, pausing when he paused, keeping to the shadows of the stalls.
He sighed inwardly — regardless of the boy's identity, and the need for coin he surely had, Raymond could not just watch another gentleman be robbed before his eyes. He caught up to the pair in a few long strides, and quietly grasped the boy's shoulder in a firm grip. He was shockingly slender in Raymond's hand, and Raymond made up his mind to be kind.
Turning the lad around as he struggled, fiercely but futilely, Raymond looked down past the brim of the woollen cap to meet astonishingly familiar cornflower blue eyes.
"Lizzy?"