Gwendolyn didn’t give a care. There were other clerks who could check the book out for her. Instead, she moved toward the center of the room. She knew she hadn’t requested it.
She opened the book. A calling card had been placed between its pages. It fluttered to the floor. She quickly picked it up. On one side was the engraved wordSteele.
On the other was a handwritten message addressed to no one.
You will receive an invitation. Accept it. S
Gwendolyn slammed the book shut, the card safely in its pages.
Several of the other patrons gave a start as if the sound had startled them. She smiled, pretended all was normal, and yet her heart was racing.
He was ready to claim the favor she owed him. She was certain of it.
Gwendolyn checked out the book and left the circulating library, the bell on the door jangling merrily with her departure.
Her maid, Molly, was slumped over as if having a little nap. Gwendolyn tapped her shoulder. Molly jumped and looked up wildly. “You are done, Miss Gwendolyn? That didn’t take long. You are usually in there much longer.”
“Come along, Molly, hurry. We must be home as soon as possible.” She set off down the street.
“Is there something the matter, Miss Gwendolyn?” the maid said in confusion and then skipped a step or two to catch up. “Is there a reason to hurry?”
“Yes,” Gwendolyn assured her without bothering to turn around or slow her step.The very best sort of reason, she told herself. She was going to see Mr. Steele again.
And soon.
That thought alone was enough to put Mercury’s wings to her feet.
Jem Wagner made a low whistle of appreciation. “She’s a lovely one,” he said, turning tolook up at Beck, who leaned against the building behind him.
They stood at the corner of Sackville Street, where they could watch Hatchard’s front door. Beck grunted a response to Wagner’s comment. He wasn’t so much interested in Gwendolyn’s looks as her reaction to his message. She held the book, and there was a haste in her step. Good.
He wondered what she thought of his choice of book. He’d been surprised to learn of Gwendolyn’s eclectic taste in reading. She enjoyed all of the usual fare gentlewomen favored, but also philosophy, religious treatises, histories, and, what seemed to be her favorite, travelers’ journals. It was as if she dreamed of faraway places.
When Beck didn’t answer immediately, Wagner said with the easy familiarity of comrades who had fought together, “Ah, come now, Major. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed her looks. I won’t believe you if you do.”
Beck didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and began walking down the street. His plan was now in motion.
“You don’t feel something? Lovely lass like that one? Not even a tingle in the dingle?” Wagner fell into step behind him. He was shorter than Beck’s six feet and three inches and a bit bandy-legged. His eyes perpetually squinted whether it was the dark of night or the light of day. He also had a hooked nose that could smell a Frenchman or trouble. In short, he was a good man to have by one’s side.
“Dingle?” Beck sneered at the word.
“Dangle?” Wagner suggested helpfully. “Callit whatever you wish, but you can’t tell me you aren’t interested. You were watching her more intently than you ever watched Soult’s calvary approach.”
“I’m beginning to regret asking for your help,” Beck muttered, side-stepping a sweating clerk carrying a heavy wooden box, who wasn’t paying attention to where he was going.
Wagner had left the military when Beck had, after Waterloo. He’d claimed he wished to enjoy the remaining years of his life with his wife, Lucy, and their four children on a yeoman’s share in Sussex. However, when Beck had reached out to him for help with his plan, Wagner had not hesitated to join him.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to annoy Beck in that way good friends could.
“I don’t know why you aren’t interested in her looks,” Wagner continued conversationally. “If I didn’t have Lucy, I’d be right on that.”
Beck didn’t respond but concentrated on crossing the street’s heavy traffic.
“Do you know what your problem is?” Wagner asked.
“I suppose you will tell me,” Beck grumbled.
“I will. It is that general’s daughter. What was her name?” Wagner pretended to search his memory. “It is the name of a flower.”
