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Chapter Four
The first thing that struck Lark about Lady Aurora Melforth was the keenness of her gray gaze. The second was the shaking of her right hand where it lay on the arm of her couch, as if the hand had a will of its own separate from her ladyship’s intentions. She caught his glance and moved the hand, arranging the folds of her wrapper. The shaking stopped. She was a long, thin woman with an abundance of wavy red hair loosely coiled around her head and a nose that descended from her brow like a buttress jutting out of a wall.
“Those insinuating Strydes think that because my foot is broken, my brain is not working. Have you sent them packing, Viv?”
Viv left Lark’s side and went to adjust her ladyship’s cushions. “Haxton is seeing them out, ma’am.”
“Thank goodness. Their Anti-Vice tirades are tiresome beyond endurance. And who is this gentleman?”
Viv glanced at him. “I … we … He is my betrothed, Mr. Edward Larkin.”
“What?” Lady Melforth’s startled gaze met Lark’s, but she spoke to Viv. “He’s not one of your beauxs from Bath. How did you meet?”
“Ma’am, if you’ll permit me to explain,” Lark ventured. “No blame attaches to Miss Bradish.”
“That’s for me to decide young man,” she snapped.
“Oh, Lady Melforth, you must thank Mr. Larkin. He’s the one who routed the Strydes.”
“Routed them?” Lady Melforth’s gaze turned curious. “And how did he accomplish that?”
“It turns out that Mr. Larkin is acquainted with the Duke of Wenlocke.” Viv Bradish gave him a challenging look, daring him to stick to his story in front of the viscountess.
“I lived in the duke’s household for many years, ma’am,” he said.
“You know her grace then?” Lady Melforth’s voice grew wistful.
“I do.”
For a moment Lady Melforth looked a little lost. “I knew her parents in Italy years ago before the French came. Ah, well, those times are gone. Who are your people? What are your prospects?”
“My people are old Londoners, ma’am. I bank with Hammersley’s.”
For a moment her ladyship was silent, whether because of the decidedness of his reply or because she knew Hammersley’s. At last, she said, “You must not expect to marry any time soon, young man. Miss Bradish is quite necessary to my comfort.”
“And you have your guide to finish. I understand, ma’am. We have made no immediate plans. It is enough that I may call her mine.” He felt Viv’s glance, and knew she would take him to task for that remark.
“Very well, you may go. I must talk with Miss Bradish now.”
*
Lark stepped into the street and turned away from the house, moving east. The sky was black, the gas lamps lit, making pools of yellow light at intervals along the street and casting shadows across the stone facades of the houses. He refused Haxton’s offer of her ladyship’s carriage. He wanted to avoid unnecessary questions about where he lived, but he felt a little lightheaded, and walking pulled at the wound in his side. His own rooms were close by, but to reach Rook and find out how his old partner had fared in the event, he’d have to find a cab soon.
He’d gone but a short way when a man fell into step beside him. It was the doctor.
“Acquainted with dukes, are you?” Newberry asked.
“Just the one.”
“I doubt it. Whoever you are, you’re no duke’s secretary. And you never met Vivian Bradish over a book.”
“No? The title is The Spanish Brothers.”
The doctor snorted. “Nevertheless, my money says you’re out to ruin our Viv.”
Lark gritted his teeth. He really didn’t like that our. “Since when is a proposal of marriage likely to ruin a lady?”
“Since when does a lady shoot her betrothed? I give you fair warning, Mr. Larkin, if that is your name, I mean to find out why she shot you and expose you for the scoundrel you are.”
