Art and Artifice by Regina Scott Page B

moment, then she took a deep
breath. “I have recently become aware that Lord Robert may be less
than a gentleman.”
    He could feel her tremble with the knowledge.
“Has he hurt you?”
    She nodded, and his heart sank. Another life
ruined! How many would have to suffer before the man was caught! He
pulled back his hand, wishing he knew how to use it to set things
right.
    “He insists that I give up something precious
to me,” she said. “Something I promised myself to pursue. He cares
nothing for me. ”
    Though he heard the frustration behind the
words, he did not hear the bleak pain he had expected. He gathered
his emotions, tucked them carefully away. She had not been harmed,
yet. It was his duty to protect her.
    “There’s not a perfect gentleman in London
from my vantage point, your ladyship,” he said, taking a step back
from her. “But I advise you to stay away from the fellow until Bow
Street is satisfied.”
    She blinked. “Then you are investigating
him.” She closed the distance, gaze intent. “Tell me why. What has
he done?”
    “The matter is confidential,” Jamie started,
when her aunt appeared in the doorway. He was thankful that he’d
insisted on keeping his cap. Now he slipped it back on, pulled it
low.
    “Just see that you stay away from him,” he
repeated. “When we have results, you’ll hear of it.” He pushed past
her and kept his face turned away as he went by her aunt. The fewer
people who knew his connection to the high and mighty Townsends,
the better. He didn’t want to be accused of having a vendetta
against the family that had refused to help his mother or
acknowledge his existence, even if that vendetta was entirely
warranted in this case. He could only hope Lady Emily could be kept
out of it.
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    Infuriating fellow! Emily wanted to seize one
of the Wedgwood vases on the mantel and hurl it after James
Cropper’s rapidly departing body. Well, she’d said it before, and
it seemed as if she must say it again. If he would not stop Lord
Robert, she would.
    “Who was that?” Lady Minerva asked, frowning
after him. “I thought Warburton said you had a caller.”
    “No one of import,” Emily assured her. “I am
persuaded I can do much better without his attendance.”
    “Well, certainly,” Lady Minerva said. “Though
you were a bit ham-handed this morning. Half of London must know
you suspect Lord Robert of skullduggery by the way you dashed
about.”
    Emily sighed. “You saw us.”
    “I see most things.” Her aunt went to the
sofa, took a seat, and patted the upholstery next to her. “Come. We
should talk.”
    Emily went to sit, resigned to a scolding.
Though the firelight played across her aunt’s stern features, it
did not warm them.
    “I do not wish to marry Lord Robert
Townsend,” she told her aunt. “And nothing you can say will make me
change my mind.”
    “So you are content to become like me,” her
aunt said, leaning back against the sofa and crossing her arms over
the chest of her gray evening dress, her Paisley shawl catching
against the material. “Old, crotchety, despised by her family.”
    “You aren’t despised,” Emily started, but her
aunt held up one hand.
    “Yes, I am. I am called in to deal with
sickness, death, and abandonment. That’s what a spinster aunt is
for.”
    Emily grimaced. “I’m not exactly a spinster
aunt.”
    “Not until your sister Helena conceives. Be
thankful for that. And even then you may have more influence than
you think. I imagine if you can convince your father that you wish
to remain unwed, you might command a house in the country, perhaps
a visit to London during the Season.”
    The image was not unwelcome. A house of her
own, somewhere to paint, to take long walks across the fields, to
worship in the solace of a cozy country chapel like the one she’d
seen recently at the village of Wenwood near the Barnsley School.
And London during the Season—the art galleries, the Royal