Keep going, keep her distracted. She gave Cilly her most winsome smile. “And the seats were wonderful, the cushions so thick and comfortable, well, at least in first class. We didn’t have to eat their food either.”
Cilly said, “All right. We had a lovely lunch packed for us by Mrs. Tartle, not that I am particularly fond of the goat cheese she adores and no one else does.”
Who cared about cheese?Cam said again, enthusiasm bubbling, “Just imagine, Cilly, only eight hours from Bath to London. Finch saw us and our luggage on the train in Bath at nine o’clock this morning and now it’s not quite six o’clock in the evening. It’s amazing—we live in an age of miracles.”
Cilly looked out the window. “Yes, yes, all that is true. It’s going to be dark soon and here we are in a carriage with no escort. How much longer?”
“We have another half hour until it’s full dark. It’s only dusk.”
Cilly stared out the window again, she frowned. “Now what is this? I don’t think we’re going in the right direction.”
Cam said quickly, “Our driver is probably taking a different route.Distract, distract. “Remember just two years ago how long it took us to travel by carriage from London to Bath? The endless hours riding in a swaying carriage, the posting houses with so much noise and as for the bed, who knew what you would be sleeping on, a board or a spring sticking in your back? Ah, Cilly, we are so lucky to live now in such an incredible age.”How many ways could she say the same thing?She started to say it was no wonder Alex was so excited about trains, so eager to make them better and better.But she managed to keep her mouth shut. “Weren’t you impressed with the new Paddington Station?”
“It was loud and dirty and a rabbit warren. Too many people, all scurrying about trying to find their trains and even the blessed porters didn’t know.
“Wait, this is Paulson Street, I recognize the redbrick house on the corner—”
“We were lucky. Our three young porters took excellent care of us. We didn’t have to do a thing and they did at least know what route to get outside.”
“Come, Cam, you had to pretend to be helpless and lost, which you were, and they came running because you’re so lovely, well, and so am I and—”
Cam said, “Oh no, the lads recognized the expensive cashmere jacket and knew there’d be coin in it for them. And your lovely eyes as well.”
Cilly didn’t shake her head. She knew the power of her eyes. She smiled. “The one young man—remember how he hastened to tell you his name—Jedediah Spring—and he called two other young men to carry out luggage, while he directed them.”
“Jedediah even turned down three hackneys until one was clean enough to suit him—and us.”
The hackney pulled to a stop.
Here at last.
Cilly leaned out the window. “Wait, this isn’t Ormond Square. This isn’t your father’s house. Cam, I know where we are. It’s the Sherbrooke townhouse.” She whipped around. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? You didn’t tell me we were coming here. This is where Alex Ivanov lives, isn’t it? You are chasing him down here in his own home? You little hussy! Are you mad?” She grabbed Cam’s arm. “Listen to me, Cam. I know Alex Ivanov is, well, to be frank, a beautiful young man, I’ll admit that, but you’ve lost your reason if you think it is at all acceptable to chase him down like a hare. It isn’t done,particularly by a young lady who would lose everything—her reputation, her good name, not to mention ruining her family.”
She smacked her own forehead. “I should have known all your talk about the trains—you just wouldn’t stop—you drew me in too. You said the same things during our journey and then you repeated it all again and again. Your father will give me notice, he’ll see I have no character reference, I’ll starve in a ditch, and why? Because my dratted charge lost her head and all reason over a bloody handsome face. I should hold you down, swat you like I did when you were a little girl.”
A burly fellow with a lovely black felt hat curled up on the sides opened their door and gave them a big gap-toothed grin. Cam pulled free of Cilly’s arms and eased over her, quickly jumped down. She asked him to wait, please. This was only their first stop. Yes, she would make it worth his while. “Cilly, your swats never hurt me, too many petticoats. Now, don’t worry! I do know what I’m doing, trust me.”
“Like when you asked me to trust you when you were five years old and pulled a worm out of a crab apple and wanted to stuff it in your mouth.”
“Oh dear, I think I just tasted worm. Don’t worry, Cilly, I’ll be back in ten minutes, I promise.”
And she was off.
CHAPTER 37
Cilly watched Lady Camilla Rohman raise her skirts and take the stone front steps two at a time and closed her eyes. They were doomed. Both of them. She wasn’t a little girl anymore and Cilly couldn’t swat her bottom. She was a woman grown, and the woman grown was about to make a very big mistake. Cilly watched her march right up to the front door of the impressive Sherbrooke townhouse. Luckily she saw no one else in the square, a blessing, but there were windows, so many windows with possible eager eyes to track her unladylike run to the townhouse.A single lady, a YOUNG single lady.She groaned when she saw the front door open, saw Cam step inside. What would happen? She leaned her head back against the mostly clean squabs, closed her eyes and thought of the myriad ditches that could be her home in the near future.
Cam had told her every thought in her young head, until she’d met Alex Ivanov. She’d spoken of him at first. After the debacle with that goose-brained idiot Pilcher Gayson and how he’d attacked her, she’d grown quiet. It was impossible not to feel pride for Lady Deveraux attacking the hapless Pilcher with her cane and Finch with his trusty poker. All the household spoke of it with great relish and delight and nodoubt also spoke to every servant in the neighborhood, so within three hours, give or take, all of Bath knew what had happened. Thank the powers above, Lady Deveraux had power in Society so Lady Camilla Rohman wouldn’t be blamed and called a scandalous hussy, no, it would be Pilcher to be punished, at least for a little while since gentlemen rarely paid for their bad behavior. Bless Finch, who’d learned from Galson, Pilcher’s father’s valet, that he was in financial straits and badly needed money not for his heir, Sydney, but for himself, and thus Pilcher’s orders to wed the heiress, by hook or by crook, namely, Camilla Rohman, the prize of the current crop. Cilly smiled briefly remembering how Lady Deveraux presented Finch with a bottle of her finest champagne, and together they’d laughed and toasted each other until they were both snoring on the sofa.
Bless Lady Deveraux, she’d also sent champagne to all the servants as well. When she’d met Finch the next morning, they’d commiserated about their aching heads. Before she’d left, Cilly was aware of Finch looking at her in just a certain questing way, and she’d blushed. Hmm.
But that was Bath, and this was London, a very different kettle of fish. Cam was chasing after a man and there wasn’t a way Cilly could help her if she was caught. Oh dear.
As for Cam, she felt her heart pound loud, fast strokes as she slapped the lion’s head knocker against the door. Then her heart leapt into her throat when the grand Sherbrooke front door opened and the estimable Mr. Plume stood in front of her.
He blinked, but no other emotion appeared on his pleasant face. “Lady Camilla?” Mr. Plume was very smart, but then again even Mr. Plume’s idiot brother-in-law would recognize a young lady in love. Was she alone? What was going on here? Oh dear, he knew to his boots this lovely young lady was chasing down Alex, now actually Lord Graham, Viscount Whitestone. Mr. Sherbrooke had written to him, andhe and the household had toasted Lord Graham—and didn’t that sound splendid? He recalled three snifters of brandy he himself had downed in the celebration. Lady Camilla looked scared, bless her, and excited, her lovely eyes nearly dilated. She looked neat as a pin and really quite lovely in a pale green walking dress and the matching cashmere jacket, her lovely hair drawn back, plaited into thick braids stacked atop her head, little loose curls dangling around her face.
Cam cleared her throat so she wouldn’t squeak, and silently repeated,I understand theorems, I’m confident. I can do anything.“Good afternoon, Mr. Plume. Is Mr. Ivanov here?”
