As Luck Would Have It Read online

  For a time. And not without first ascertaining if it might be avoidable.

  “There are limits, William.”

  “I’m not asking you to wed the chit,” he argued reasonably. “Just make nice.”

  “I have no experience making nice.”

  “Nonsense, I’ve seen you perfectly amiable on at least two occasions.” William shoved his handkerchief back in his pocket and leaned back in his seat to savor the experience of watching his friend squirm. “I need a man on the inside, and a courtship of Loudor’s cousin will provide ample opportunities for you to be in his company, in his home.”

  “We could just as easily arrange for the two of us to be introduced—”

  “And have him wonder why the generally reclusive Duke of Rockeforte has taken a sudden interest?” William shook his head. “Woo the girl, Alex, and woo Loudor in the process. Find out what he and his cronies are about.”

  Alex scowled, swore, squirmed.

  Then, as William had expected, capitulated. “Bloody hell, very well. What do we know about this woman, this Miss…?”

  “Everton. Miss Sophie Everton. Her father owns the estate of Whitefield. I believe Miss Everton holds the place in particular regard, as did the girl’s mother.”

  “Deceased?”

  “Yes, as well as her sister, both killed in a carriage accident. The viscount left England with his daughter shortly thereafter, and gave over the business of running the estate to his cousin.”

  Alex nodded absently. “Loudor. How long ago was that?”

  William reluctantly set down his drink, licked a bit of brandy off his fingers, and shuffled through the mountain of papers on his desk before finding what he needed. “Twelve years this past February.”

  “And how old was Miss Everton at the time?” Alex asked suspiciously.

  “Twelve.”

  “Excellent,” Alex grumbled, “a spinster.”

  It wasn’t a complaint, per se, more a statement of dread.

  “Come now, man,” William chided. “Have a heart. She’s spent the last decade continent-hopping with her father. There hasn’t been an opportunity for the poor girl to make a suitable match.”

  “She’ll be husband hunting.”

  Setting the paper aside, William once again relaxed in his chair and smiled. “Is that fear I’m hearing, Your Grace?”

  “Yes.” Alex took a gratifyingly large drink before continuing. “What else do we know?”

  Chuckling, William dug through his papers again. It was a pointless exercise (he’d long since memorized them) except in that it provided an opportunity to draw out the moment. “Ah, here we are. Hmm…Seems she’s a bit of an oddity, actually…. Speaks a number of languages, of which only English and Latin can be counted as civilized…. Raised by her father and a governess turned chaperone by the name of Mrs. Mary Summers, and an English-educated Chinese man—old friend of the family. The latter two are traveling with Miss Everton, although Mr. Wang will be journeying on to Wales. As for the young woman herself, she has a reputation for being somewhat outspoken, shares her father’s interest in antiquities with no material value, and has had a rather alarming series of mishaps.”

  Alex digested that information for a moment before speaking.

  “Any indication she’s traveling to London to aid Loudor?”

  “None, but that doesn’t negate the possibility that she is, or will be, sympathetic to his cause. They’ve been in contact by post regarding her father’s estate, but it’s hardly uncommon for a young woman to keep up regular correspondence.”

  “Hmm. Have any of these missives been intercepted?”

  “A few, wouldn’t do to have them become suspicious.”

  “And were they useful?”

  “They were positively benign. He asked after her welfare, hoped her father’s spirits were improved.” William waved his hand around. “That sort of thing. Chatty letters.”

  Alex frowned into his brandy and William imagined he was currently thinking of all the reasons, some of them possibly even legitimate, not to accept the assignment. All the excuses he could use to politely extricate himself from what he knew was his duty. But he was a Rockeforte, and in the end he asked only, “What does she look like?”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “Miss Everton, what does she look like?”

  “Oh, well…” William mumbled the rest of the sentence into his drink.

  Alex leaned forward in his chair. “What’s that?”

  “Ahem…well, I’m not entirely sure.” He grimaced, mentally congratulated himself for the affectation, and hurried his explanation. “My man in China, he didn’t give a description exactly. He mentioned something vague…something about ‘unusual.’”

  “Unusual?”

  “Likely the word was lost in translation.”

  Alex swore, squirmed a little more, then took a deep breath and a deeper drink.

  “For Crown and country then,” he finally grunted, clearly unimpressed with either institution. “I suppose I ought to find a way to have myself introduced to our unusual old maid.”

  “No need. I’ve arranged to have Loudor’s carriage delayed en route to the docks. Miss Everton will be taking a delightful trick hack one of our engineers designed. Very clever young man. Just be at the corner of Firth and Whitelow at five o’clock this evening. Bring Whittaker if you like. He’s likely already met Loudor and can help smooth the way, so to speak.”

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t want Whit to go. He should never have gotten involved with your department to begin with.”

  “Too late on both accounts. We needed his connections on that last bit of business, and he already knows you’re meeting with me today. There’ll be no avoiding him. Best to give him something useful to do or he’ll take it into his head to do so on his own.”

  Alex jerked a nod and handed his empty glass back to William. “You’re certain Prinny knows nothing of this?”

  “Quite sure. Our illustrious Prince Regent is entirely in the dark on this matter.”

  Two

  Three hours after her interview with Mr. Smith, Sophie found herself standing on her homeland for the first time in twelve years.

  It’s possible she would have been a bit more excited by the notion if she wasn’t still standing on the dock, in a drizzle, pressed tightly between the overprotective persons of Mrs. Summers and Mr. Wang. Their luggage had been piled neatly off to one side and Sophie fought the urge to sit down on one of the sturdy trunks. Where was Lord Loudor, or, if he had been unavoidably detained, then where was his carriage? The other passengers had long since made their way into the city.

  She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. She’d been pressing her companions to hire a public hackney, but Mrs. Summers insisted on waiting.

  “Lord Loudor will be along any minute now with a reasonable excuse and apologies for his tardiness,” Mrs. Summers had explained. “A public hack is not a suitable means of conveyance for a young lady.”

  After forty-five minutes of listening to these and an assortment of other excuses, Sophie stopped asking, and took up making varied sounds of disgruntlement. She sighed, she grumbled, she even hmphed for good mea sure.

  Finally, after listening to Sophie tap her foot loudly for several minutes, Mrs. Summers caved. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sophie! Have it your way!”

  Sophie beamed at her friend as Mr. Wang took off to enlist the help of a dock worker. In a surprisingly short time, the three were comfortably installed in the hack.

  “This is so much better,” Sophie sighed. “How fortunate we were able to secure a hack so quickly. It makes up, I suppose, for Lord Loudor’s absence.”

  Her chaperone frowned disapprovingly. Tall, rail thin, and with striking angular features, Mrs. Summers had all the appearances of a hawk, a look she occasionally enhanced by affecting a matching demeanor. Sophie knew her too long and too well, however, to be fooled. Mrs. Summers’s stern countenance hid an open mind and a generous h
eart.

  Perfectly comfortable with her chaperone’s censure, Sophie returned the scowl with a smile. “Roomy,” she commented, “and decidedly well padded.”

  The brown leather on the benches extended up all four walls and even onto the ceiling. Glancing down, she noticed even the floor held a thin layer of cushion.

  “How very odd.”

  The carriage started with a jerk, and soon she was too entranced by the passing scenery to dwell on the unusual interior of her transportation. Street after street rolled by. London was loud, dirty, overcrowded, and positively wonderful.

  She was vaguely aware of Mrs. Summers speaking, but it was several minutes before she could pull her attention from the window long enough to focus on what was being said.

  “…We’ve left the waterfront district, which, young lady, you shall not under any circumstances venture into again. In a moment, if you look out to your left, we’ll pass…Well, for…Why on earth are we turning here?”

  Mr. Wang craned his neck slightly to peer out the window. “Where, exactly, is ‘here’?”

  “I have no idea,” Mrs. Summers stated, sounding more surprised than alarmed. “Our driver should have continued straight for several more blocks. What ever is our man thinking taking such a shortcut through such a squalid section of town?”

  Mr. Wang raised his walking stick in preparation of pounding on the roof. “Shall I speak with him?”

  “And have him stop in this area? Heavens no. We’ll take it up with him when we arrive.” Mrs. Summers turned again to the window and wrinkled her long nose. “You are not allowed here either, Sophie.”

  Sophie didn’t think she’d have any problem obeying that command. The neighborhood reminded her of some of the poorer sections of Peking. Too many dilapidated buildings likely crammed with too many hungry people. She felt helpless in places like these, and a little ashamed. She watched as they passed a small chapel she might have described as having seen better days, if she’d thought there was any chance at all that the church had, in fact, ever seen a good day. She rather doubted it, and settled for describing it as “glum” instead. Perhaps she could take some of the money set aside for her purchases and make a donation.

  The loud report of snapping wood followed by the unpleasant sensation of the carriage tilting precariously to one side immediately erased Sophie’s altruistic thoughts. She watched in horror as an unlit iron lantern slid dangerously close to the edge of the shelf over Mrs. Summers’s head.

  The last thing Sophie remembered was bounding off the seat with her arms stretched outward in a grasping motion.

  The next thing she heard was a man’s voice telling her to open her eyes. Low, soft, and just a little bit gravelly, it washed over her like a soothing lullaby.

  Maybe she’d sleep a little while longer.

  The soothing voice was promptly replaced by an annoying one. Mrs. Summers was demanding she wake up immediately. And she was doing it in that tone. That horrible, insistent, I-am-quite-out-of-patience-with-you tone every child despises.

  And Sophie was going back to sleep. Absolutely.

  A hand prodded the side of her head.

  “Ouch!”

  Sophie’s eyes flew open, and she was immediately rewarded for the effort with Mr. Wang’s soft chuckle, a painful eyeful of light, and the realization that what ever mattress she was currently lying on was astoundingly hard. Groaning, she squeezed her eyelids shut again.

  “She’ll be fine,” Mr. Wang announced.

  Mrs. Summers clucked her tongue (a noise Sophie found excruciating in her current state) and said, “Two square inches of unpadded space in the whole carriage and your head finds it, of course.”

  The carriage. London! She tried squinting against the sun, which was peeking through the clouds now, when a large figure crouched in front of her and blocked out the light.

  “Better?”

  “Hmm, thank you.” It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust, and when they did she was forced to blink several times in disbelief.

  Here was the man with the soothing voice, and good heavens but he was handsome. Without a doubt, the most attractive Englishman she had ever seen. To be fair, she really hadn’t seen very many Englishmen in her travels, but she had certainly run across enough to know that this one was not typical. Groggily, she wondered if perhaps she had hit her head harder than she realized and when her eyes regained their focus she would find he had enormous teeth and several chins.

  If that were the case, she hoped she wouldn’t recover too quickly. He was quite pleasant to look at for the moment, with the chiseled features one rarely found outside of Greek sculpture, deep-set eyes that looked to be possibly green, full lips, and a strong jaw. His aristocratic nose certainly could have been lopped off some poor unsuspecting statue.

  Michelangelo’s David, that’s what he reminded her of.

  Only taller. Much taller. And with better hair. She watched as one coffee-colored lock fell across his brow. Lovely. She could just stare at him all day.

  “Miss? Miss….”

  “Hmm…Everton.”

  “You can let go of the lantern now, Miss Everton.”

  Ignoring the pain to her head, she craned her neck up slightly to look at herself. She was lying flat on her back in the middle of the road and held the lantern in a death grip on her stomach. If it had been a bunch of lilies, she might have been mistaken for a corpse.

  “I caught it,” she said stupidly before laying her head back down.

  “So you did,” replied Mr. Wang. She turned her gaze to find him standing next to Mrs. Summers. “You were quicker than that tiger, I’d say.”

  “Let go now, Miss Everton,” said the stranger.

  “Sorry?”

  “The lantern. Let go of the lantern now.”

  She tried, she really did, but her fingers were cramped in place. “I can’t seem to…”

  Large warm hands covered her own and gently pried her stiff fingers from the lantern. She flexed them experimentally and felt the first painful tingling of returning feeling.

  “What ever…?”

  “We lost a wheel,” Mrs. Summers explained.

  Looking down past her toes, Sophie saw the hack resting awkwardly on three wheels against the road. The horses had been unhitched and tied with two saddled mounts she didn’t recognize.

  “Yes, well…that can happen.”

  “You’re fortunate the whole carriage didn’t turn over.”

  Sophie couldn’t help noticing the stranger sounded a touch angry. If she were feeling more confident in her ability to hold a coherent conversation, she might have asked him why.

  “Driver’s gone! Another hack’s coming ’round.”

  She stared bewildered as yet another strange man walked forward and knelt beside her. He too appeared uncommonly tall and handsome (although not, in her opinion, quite as handsome as the first) but with slightly fairer features. “It’s fortunate Alex and I decided on this shortcut. How are you feeling, Miss…?”

  “Everton,” Mrs. Summers supplied.

  Then, to Sophie’s complete astonishment, her governess launched into a round of formal introductions and general pleasantries, for all the world as if their little group were meeting for the first time at a lovely afternoon picnic.

  And didn’t little Sophie just look charming spread out on the cobblestone blanket?

  Good Lord.

  “I’m better, much better,” she mumbled, sounding anything but better. “I’d like to sit up now.”

  She pushed herself up with her elbows before anyone could stop her. The quick movement was a mistake. She knew it would be. Really, anyone would think this was the first time she had been knocked unconscious.

  Her head swam, her vision blurred, her stomach lurched, and then finally, and quite suddenly, she went back to sleep.

  Alex’s first thought upon pulling the insensible Miss Everton from the disabled carriage had been—

  Dear God. Something had most cert
ainly been lost in translation.

  His second thought had been that Miss Everton’s unconsciousness was a disturbing but undeniably convenient opportunity to study her appearance in detail.

  She was beautiful.

  In the manner of Greek goddesses and Rubens portraits, she was beautiful. A heart-shaped face, full lips that seemed to curve up naturally at the corners, an endearing sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her pert little nose, all framed by a cloud of thick hair the color of sable.

  Alex’s next thought had been to wonder about the color of her eyes. Would they be a golden brown or darker like her hair?

  When her lids finally fluttered open Alex was hard-pressed not to gape like a green boy.

  They were blue. A crisp, dark blue that practically crackled. He had never in his life seen eyes that color. Hard upon that realization came the less rational notion that he was going to tear William limb from limb.

  And when she passed out the second time, Alex decided he would do it slowly. At the very least, William’s trick hack would be scrap by morning.

  Picking up Miss Everton carefully, he carried her to the newly arrived hack. “Whit, you and Mr. Wang see to our mounts. I’ll assist Mrs. Summers and Miss Everton home.”

  Alex ignored Whit’s knowing grin and wink. Likewise, he pretended not to hear his friend’s quiet comment about having all the fun, deciding it would be better to concentrate instead on getting both himself and Miss Everton inside the carriage without mishap—no easy feat since he refused to set her down first.

  Eventually, he managed to settle himself in a seat with her in his lap. He really ought to put her on the bench beside him. He really should. It wasn’t at all proper to be holding her as he was, but for some inexplicable reason he couldn’t bring himself to perform the task.