Rendezvous by Amanda Quick Page B

were much to blame for the general flightiness and romantical inclinations that characterized so much of the female population. He did not want Meredith exposed to them.
    The day-to-day instruction was carried out by Meredith's governess, Clarissa Fleming. Clarissa was an impoverished Fleming relation whom Harry felt extremely fortunate to have available in his household. A serious bluestocking in her own right, Aunt Clarissa shared his views on education. She was fully qualified to teach the subjects Harry wanted Meredith to learn.
    Harry put down the letter, took another sip of his brandy, and contemplated what would happen to his strictly regulated household once he put Augusta in charge of it.
    Perhaps he truly had lost his wits.
    Something shifted in the shadows outside the window. Frowning, Harry glanced up and saw nothing but darkness. Then he heard a faint scratching noise.
    Harry sighed and reached out for the handsome black ebony walking stick that was never far from his side. London was not the continent and the war was over, but the world was never a completely peaceful place. His experience of human nature told him it probably never would be.
    He got up, cane in hand, and put out the lamp. Then he went to stand to one side of the window.
    As soon as the room went dark, the scratching noise increased. It had a frantic quality now, Harry decided. Someone was hurrying through the bushes alongside the house.
    A moment later there was an urgent tapping on the window. Harry looked down and saw a figure in a hooded cloak peering through the glass. Moonlight revealed the small hand raised to rap again.
    There was something familiar about that hand.
    "Bloody hell." Harry stepped away from the wall and put the ebony stick on the desk. He opened the window with a brusque, angry motion, planted both hands on the sill, and leaned out.
    "Thank goodness you are still here, my lord." Augusta threw back the hood of her cloak. The pale moon revealed the relief in her face. "I saw that the light was on and I knew you were in there and then quite suddenly the lamp went out and I was afraid you had left the room. What a disaster if I had missed you tonight. I have been waiting for over an hour at Lady Arbuthnott's for your return."
    "If I had realized there was a lady waiting for me, I would have made it a point to return much sooner."
    Augusta wrinkled her nose. "Oh, dear. You are angry, aren't you?"
    "Whatever gave you that notion?" Harry reached down, grasped her arms through the fabric of the cloak, and hauled her bodily in through the window. It was then he saw the other figure crouching in the bushes. "Who the devil is that?"
    "That is Scruggs, my lord. Lady Arbuthnott's butler," Augusta said breathlessly. She righted herself as he released her and straightened her cloak. "Lady Arbuthnott insisted he accompany me."
    "Scruggs. I see. Wait here, Augusta." Harry swung one leg over the windowsill and then the other. He dropped down onto the moist earth and beckoned to the stooped figure in the bushes. "Come here, my good man."
    "Yes, your lordship?" Scruggs came forward with an awkward, limping gait. His eyes glinted with laughter in the shadows. "May I be of service, sir?"
    "I think you have already done quite enough for one night, Scruggs," Harry said through his teeth. Aware of Augusta hovering in the open window, he lowered his voice as he confronted Peter Sheldrake. "And if you ever assist the lady in another adventure of this sort, I shall personally straighten out that extremely poor posture of yours. Permanently. Do you understand me?"
    "Yes, sir. Most definitely, your lordship. Quite clear, sir." Scruggs bobbed his head in a servile bow and edged backward, cowering pathetically. "I'll just wait out here in the cold for Miss Ballinger, sir. Never mind that the night air brings out the rheumatism in these old bones. Don't concern yourself with my joints, my lord."
    "I do not intend to concern myself with your joints unless I