Benny whimpered and dashed away.
“Benny!” Clara cried, running forward.
“Damnation, leave the dog alone. He’s only protecting his mistress. If you’d left her be, he would not have troubled you!”
Clara, now utterly baffled, watched as Hawkney abandoned his horse and ran over to pick Benny up. He glared at Miss Chesson. “Go home, the pair of you. You should be ashamed of yourselves. As if your unkindness to Miss Halfpenny were not bad enough, you compound it with your cruelty to a small dog. Your parents will hear from me about the proper behaviour one ought to expect of young ladies.”
Chastised, and cheeks blazing, the two fled, leaving Clara alone with an irate Hawkney, the small dog still clutched inarms. Benny, the foolish creature, wagged his tail happily and licked the duke’s chin, simultaneously wiping his wet, sandy paws on his grace’s immaculate person.
“Please desist,” Hawkney said, scowling. “Here.”
He thrust the little dog at Clara, who gathered him to her. “Oh, Benny, you brave, brave boy. Well done. Yes, my darling, I am very proud of you,” she said, accepting the little dog’s kisses with more appreciation than the duke had.
“You are certain you are unharmed?”
The cool voice recalled her to her surroundings, and to just whom she owed her thanks. Clara subsided with the odd sensation that the world had turned on its head.
“I am, thank you. Just a little damp. I-I did not expect you to step in. It—” Clara steeled herself, taking a breath. “It was most gallant of you,” she said, finding she meant it, if reluctantly.
He snorted. “A painful experience for us both.”
Clara’s lips twitched in unexpected appreciation of the comment. “Quite.”
His horse took that opportunity to nuzzle at his shoulder and Hawkney reached over to caress its velvety nose, though he still regarded Clara. “If that is your idea of gallantry, I believe the men you know ought to be ashamed of themselves too. It was only common decency,” he remarked, his tone indifferent.
“I don’t know any men,” Clara said frankly, and then wished herself at the bottom of the ocean. Lord above, he knew she was a dull little spinster, there was no need to spell it out in quite such large letters. “Well, there’s Reverend Honeywell,” she added desperately, but that only made matters worse.
Clara subsided into an awkward silence, and he observed her curiously.
“Why the devil did you let them do it? You’re not usually so reticent.Are you?”
She gazed at him, wondering how on earth to articulate something she hardly understood herself. Not knowing how to explain to him that she was only courageous when he was around, she shrugged.
He frowned, and she could tell she had aggravated him, that he did not understand her at all, and did not like that he didn’t either. He struck Clara as a man who couldn’t abide not understanding anything or anyone. She did not doubt that if something needed an explanation, he would make it his business to find one.
Well, not today, your grace.
“If you will excuse me, I had better be getting home,” she said, gesturing to her wet clothes.
“Indeed. A tot of brandy will keep the chill out,” he added, and then shook his head as if wondering what on earth had possessed him to say such a thing.
“I’ll remember that,” Clara replied, rather entertained by the suggestion that she, Miss Clara Halfpenny, would have a bottle of brandy at her disposal. “Thank you again.”
He made a dismissive sound and turned his back on her, gathered up the reins of his horse, and continued on his way.
Little Valentine, 18thJanuary 1816
The morning was well underway by the time Aubrey strode out of the hall and towards the town. Though he’d intended to wake early, his late night had caught up with him and his blasted valet, having been given no other instructions, had allowed him to sleep late.
Still, hopefully, Alfie had made it home in one piece so Aubrey could have the pleasure of dissecting him slowly and painfully.
Whilst his instincts had told him Alfie was not entirely what he appeared to be, Aubrey was still having a hard time picturing the devil as an out-and-out criminal. A jewel thief, no less. He just looked like a mischievous lad, all bravado and cheek. More than that, Aubrey realised he had liked him very much, and Alice too. It was not just that he was angry about their involvement in the theft of his mother’s jewels, but the way they had treated him hurt, the way they had acted as though they were his friends whilst knowing full well that they were lying to his face.
He tried to soften the blow by assuring himself that Alice knew nothing about Alfie’s way of life, but he did not believe it. They were in it together, and they could damn well explain it all to him, the two-faced, duplicitous wretches.
He had just turned the corner onto the promenade when he saw Alfie ahead of him. He too looked tired and worn to a thread, as well he might if he was just getting home. Served him right, the treacherous little snake. Gritting his teeth, Aubrey hurried after him, only to get immediately waylaid.
“Mr Seymour, how do you do!”
