Page 38 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock
A footman helped her from the carriage and followed her into the house after she waved a quick goodbye. Pulling her silk shawl closer around her, she raced up the staircase. The landing was chilly. Hopefully, there was a fire in her bedroom waiting for her.
There was, and Lucy appeared soon after Louisa entered her bedchamber to help her mistress undress.
“I’m going to have a lie in tomorrow,” she told the maid with a yawn as she blew out the candle on the night table, climbed into her bed, and burrowed into the cool sheets. “Get some rest, Lucy.”
The low fire lent a soft glow to the bedchamber. Decorated in shades of blue and yellow, the room was a haven, a quiet space away from Louisa’s male relatives.
Not that she didn’t love her brothers, but she needed a place to escape from their talk of horses, dogs, and shooting parties.
She hummed an Irish air, her lips curling into a soft smile. Lord Wycliffe had enjoyed dancing. He hadn’t wanted to, she was sure, but she could tell he’d enjoyed it.
It had been frustrating that after a set with the viscount, she’d been inundated with requests to dance. Had a dance with one exalted lord improved her standing in the marriage mart?
She chose to believe that not having any of her brothers standing nearby silently evaluating her dance partners helped.
Edith had wanted to tease her, she imagined. Louisa had liked dancing with the aloof viscount, had liked it far too much. It was sobering to think her mother had been right about the power of dancing with someone, and how it could change how you felt about them.
Had her feelings changed, though? She’d always found the viscount fascinating against her will. He was not only a man of great taste but had a no-nonsense way about him that she admired when his brusqueness wasn’t directed her way.
She now understood his approaching herself and Edith about the baby gift. It had been a ruse, but he had been endearing about it. Was she a fool to believe he wanted to please Ashford and Charlotte?
It did not signify that Lord Wycliffe was mysterious and handsome.
“I’m a ninny,” she said out loud. “The viscount has no interest in me other than my clock, and I need to remember that.”
Closing her eyes, she was determined to think of Lord Wycliffe no more but to concentrate on the clocks and the riddle. That should be enough to send her to sleep.
* * * * *
Bones let Cecil into the townhouse. “Everyone else is abed, my lord.”
“You look like you need to speak with me,” he replied quietly. “Come into the drawing room.”
Cecil took a seat in his favorite chair while Bones perched on the leather chair again.
“Quinn has heard rumors the RA is interested in the clock Lady Louisa won at the auction.” Bones frowned. “It is said you have or know where the second clock is. My lord, I can’t help you if I don’t know the truth.”
“I do know where the other clock is,” he replied carefully. He could only tell the man so much, or he would be in danger. “It is safely hidden where no one would think to look.”
“And you would like me to continue keeping a watch over Lady Louisa?” The man raised a brow.
“Not for much longer. If all goes well, I will take possession of her clock tomorrow.”
Cecil was so tired. For the first time in a long time, he felt unsatisfied with his life. For nearly three years, he’d lived in these rooms with no proper staff, and had few relationships as he could trust only a handful of people.
He didn’t fool himself into thinking that bringing down the RA would abolish all crime in London. There would always be thieves and the like. What he couldn’t stomach was the flagrant violence the organization employed to meet its goals. And to think a few lords had founded the group as a lark.
Making others commit crimes for them was a pastime. How abhorrent. Cecil had no idea how his crusade against the RA would end, but he was determined that whoever remained of the founders of the Rogue’s Alliance would pay dearly.
Chapter Fourteen
The next day dawned cloudy for his morning call on Lady Louisa. He’d never actually called on a lady before. Not a marriageable lady, anyway. Cecil sincerely hoped Leopold was not at home.
He completed his toilette. Cecil did need a valet, although he didn’t think anyone had his way with a cravat. The Veterans Registry Office came to mind. Surely there were batmen who’d returned from the war who would do a credible job as a valet. And perhaps a cook, footmen- He was getting ahead of himself. With the possibility of bringing down the RA coming closer, he was finally looking toward the future.
Dressed in his best morning suit of tan trousers and a claret coat, he gave his appearance one last check in his dressing mirror.
Downstairs, Acker greeted him. “I’ll bring a tray into the drawing room, my lord.”
