Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (13 page)

Alexandra stood and greeted Mr. Runyon
with a bit of nervousness.  Today she must ask him to do something of the
utmost importance for her.  She took a chance, she knew.  Mr. Runyon might
easily go directly to Oliver Burke, but no other alternative existed. 
Alexandra had sent several messages to Mr. Meechum, but received no
reply.  Now she knew why.  Yesterday, she wandered by her uncle’s
study, curious at the sheaf of paper on his desk that resembled her stationery. 
Her uncle had left hours ago for his club, and Tilda was occupied in the
kitchen brewing Alexandra’s tea. 

Alexandra approached her uncle’s desk to
find every one of the notes she’d written to Mr. Meechum.  Her uncle intercepted
them all.   The last note, given to the stable boy, sat on top of the
stack.  Nervously she felt for the note she placed in her reticule this
morning.  Mr. Runyon may be her only hope.  The crackle of the paper
assured her the note still lay safely in her reticule.

“Miss Dunforth.  Are you ready for
our excursion?” 

Alexandra swung her thoughts from the
treachery of her uncle to the appearance of her friend.  Mr. Runyon,
impeccably dressed as usual, wore a dark blue coat with dark brown
breeches.  He jauntily swung his walking stick as he strode towards
her.  The top of the walking stick was adorned with a wolf’s head. 
Blood red rubies, the eyes of the wolf, glinted at Alexandra.  

Mr. Runyon smiled down at her. “I’ve sent
for Tilda to await us in my carriage.” He frowned. “I am sorry, my dear, that
we need to bring Tilda, but I did promise your uncle to observe every
propriety.”

“I am excited beyond words to be able to
go to Thurmbadge’s!  You cannot imagine how appreciative I am.  My
uncle’s library is …a bit lacking.”

“Your uncle does not strike me as an avid
reader, just an avid eater.” He laughed, then covered his mouth with a gloved
hand as if he had spoken out of turn. “My apologies.”

Alexandra laughed merrily.  “No
apologies necessary, Mr. Runyon.  You and I are of a like mind and I am
grateful for it.”  She stood and reached into her reticule.  “There
is something I need to discuss with you.”  She hesitated, unsure if she
should proceed. 

He watched her politely, the blonde brows
raised in question.

Alexandra stood abruptly and shut the
parlor door.  She knew now that Odious Oliver kept her from Mr. Meechum,
but her uncle didn’t know she knew.   He likely had the servants
spying on her.   She kept her voice low.

“Mr. Runyon.  I am so sorry to
impose upon you, but I have no where else to turn.”  She took out the note
and handed it to him, pausing to clasp his hand in hers. “I hope that you will
not mind assisting me.”

Mr. Runyon turned the note over.  He
frowned when he saw the name written in Alexandra’s neat script across the
front.  His pale blue eyes narrowed.

“It’s not what you think!” Alexandra said
urgently. “Please let me explain.”

Mr. Runyon looked displeased.  Very
displeased.  Then the look vanished, replaced by one of polite confusion.

Alexandra swallowed, relieved that he
would listen to her. “Mr. Meechum is my aunt’s solicitor.”  Alexandra
wasn’t certain how much she should tell Mr. Runyon.  After all, he would
likely not want to help her if it meant their betrothal would be
annulled.   She decided to be discreet. “The estate is to go to me on
my marriage,” she lied, “but I think my uncle means to sell it sooner, and keep
the profits himself.”

“You mentioned that you grew up there.”

“He is threatening to throw out my
servants, many of whom are elderly.  These people are my family, the only
family I have left.  My aunt, on her deathbed, made me promise never to
sell Helmsby Abbey and to always look after the loyal retainers who are part of
the Dunforth family.  I cannot allow him to sell my home.”

 “Are you suggesting that Lord Burke
doesn’t truly own this Helmsby Abbey? That he is attempting fraud? To repay
your servants' loyalty to your family with homelessness?” The cultured voice
sounded shocked.

Alexandra sighed in relief that he seemed
to be on her side.  “I do not think my family solicitor is aware of the
situation.  I must consult him so that he may delay the sale.  My
uncle cannot sell it.”

“Please do not distress yourself. “ 
He slowly nodded his head.  “Miss Dunforth, words cannot express how
deeply I am honored that you entrust such a task to me.  After our
excursion today, I will personally deliver your note to Mr. Meechum and wait on
his reply.  If it is positive,” he took her hand gently, “I will escort
you there immediately.  However, if it is not, will you promise to accept
Mr. Meechum’s response and look towards your future?  Perhaps with
me?”  He reddened slightly, seemingly embarrassed by the expression of his
emotions.

Alexandra looked at the kind man before
her.  She should tell him everything and rely on his discretion.  His
honor. Her mind raced.  She could not take that chance.  Mr. Runyon,
once she explained her reasons, would understand and forgive her.  She
nodded her assent.

“Then let us be off!”

Mr. Runyon escorted her into his smart
black carriage and sat across from her. Tilda, ever vigilant, sat on
Alexandra’s left.  She and Mr. Runyon spoke of pleasantries until the
carriage halted in front of an enormous gray stone building with large glass
windows facing the street.  A large sign hung above the entrance from a
burnished copper pole.  “Thrumbadge’s”, then underneath, “Booksellers and
Lending Library.”

Alexandra jumped up as soon as the
carriage doors opened.  Excitement ran through her at the thought of all
those luscious books waiting for her discovery.

Mr. Runyon gave her an indulgent smile,
taking her hand to assist her from the carriage.  He squeezed her fingers.

Tilda heaved her herself up from the
squabs, grunting in displeasure.  A visit to the booksellers did not sit
as well with the maid as it did with Alexandra.  The scowl on her features
gave credence to her lack of interest.

“Thank you, Tilda.  Your presence is
not required in Thrumbadge’s.  Miss Dunforth shall be very safe with
me.” 

Tilda nodded mutely, sitting back down in
relief.

Mr. Runyon gave Alexandra a wink and
extended his arm.

She squeaked in delight as they entered
the booksellers.  Alexandra simply couldn’t help it.  She could not
believe the size, the breadth, or the selection of the establishment. 
Through the windows facing the street, Alexandra could clearly see the hundreds
of volumes stacked neatly within.  Why, it looked as if the shelves
stretched on forever! 

“Thank you for bringing me, Mr.
Runyon.”  She dropped his arm and ran to the entrance, urging him with a
wave of one gloved hand to hurry.  

He laughed at her urgency to
enter.   “Miss Dunforth, your pleasure is all the thanks I
need.  You look like a child at Christmas!” 

Alexandra giggled, waiting impatiently
for him to catch up.  He caught her hand, tucked it securely in the crook
of his arm and nodded to the doorman.    Blue eyes twinkling at
her, he opened the door with a flourish and waved her inside. “Welcome to
Thrumbadge’s, Miss Dunforth.”

”Oh!”  It was all she could
say.  Alexandra valued knowledge above all else, and books represented
knowledge.  She looked at the hundreds of leather bound tomes, the stacks
of periodicals, and the small army of male clerks who bustled amongst the
customers and sighed in exquisite delight.  Thrumbadge’s fit very neatly
into what Alexandra’s version of what heaven must be like. 

“May I?” She looked at Mr. Runyon
eagerly.  She trod over to a large brass plate affixed to the end of one
aisle.  The plate read, “History and Geography".

“Of course!  I shall seat myself
just there. I haven’t yet read the Times today.” He pointed to an area with
several large wing backed chairs. “Peruse to your heart’s content.”  He
bowed slightly.

Alexandra didn’t know where to
begin.  Choices abounded.  She decided to explore, starting with the
aisle before her. Perhaps, a book on the Far East.  Or Macao.  She
had a driving curiosity about Macao.

***

Lord Sutton Reynolds listened to his
sister, Miranda, chatter non-stop, as they walked through Thrumbadge's. 
His days had been filled with inquiries into the latest attacks on him, poring
over dozens of account books for his various estates, and weeding through the
stack of bills his stepmother sent round to him on a daily basis.  The
amount of money she planned to spend on her birthday celebration at Gray
Covington was costing a bloody fortune.  He ran a hand through his
hair.  The irony of paying for Jeanette’s birthday ball when she'd
attempted to have him killed was not lost on Sutton.  He needed to be sure
that she was the culprit before he took action.  Very sure.

Sutton eyed the rows of books. 
Books calmed him.  He wondered if Miss Dunforth, who shared his love of
the written word, shopped at Thrumbadge’s.  He should ask her, if he saw
her again.  He knew Miss Dunforth to be fast friends with Miranda. 
The two women attended a musicale together, and he’d spied Miss Dunforth
rapidly retreating into a hallway to avoid speaking to him.  

The Badger, or rather his attraction to
her, gave Sutton a muddled feeling, as if he had drunk too much brandy. 
Until his desire for her was under control, or until the Badger cast aside
caution and allowed herself to be in his presence, he thought it best to keep
his distance.  He entertained himself with some of the most beautiful women
in London, namely Countess Rutherford, but even that woman could not push aside
the image of Miss Dunforth. 
Alex
.  The Dowager dropped Miss
Dunforth’s name repeatedly within Sutton’s hearing, waiting for him to ask
after her.  Cagey old bird, Donata.  He needed to be careful around
his grandmother.

Sutton walked down a long row of books on
geography and wondered why one small, bookish Badger held him in thrall. 
He barely knew her.  Her prickly manner and her sharp tongue would flay a
man alive.  He should know.

“Cam, I am going just over there.”
Miranda pointed to the other side of Thrumbadge’s where Sutton suspected the
Lord Thurston novels were shelved.  “Look, there are some dreadfully dull
books on history, filled with dead people and events no one cares to discuss
anymore.  I’m sure you’ll be enthralled for hours,” Miranda said saucily
before sauntering down the aisle.  Impishly she looked over her
shoulder.  "Perhaps we should get mother a book for her birthday.”
Miranda opened her eyes innocently and burst into giggles.  It was
doubtful Jeanette Reynolds ever read a book in her life, except for possibly
Derbert’s Peerage.

Sutton pretended sternness. “Be gone, you
minx.”  How Miranda sprang from Jeanette Reynolds mystified Sutton. 
Miranda and his younger sister, Elizabeth bore little resemblance to their
mother, for which Sutton gave eternal thanks.  “I will be here amongst the
Pharaohs,” he called after her.

Sutton’s newest area of interest happened
to be Egyptian history.  Mummies in particular fascinated him.  
The sound of humming came from the next aisle.  Heels clicked across the
wood floor, so the hummer must be female.   An elderly
spinster.  Few attractive women were interested in the contents of the
aisles on either side; Plato and travel essays.

Curiosity got the best of him.  He
peered through a stack and was rewarded by the view of a green bonnet perched
atop a mass of chestnut curls.  The heavy mass of hair, already escaping
the bonnet, perched atop an ivory column of neck and was situated on a delectable
female form with an overabundance of bosom.   Miss Alexandra
Dunforth.  As if he in thinking of the Badger he’d conjured her up from
thin air.   His appreciation grew for her ability to appear in the
most unexpected places.
 
The tiny, bonneted head disappeared as she
rounded the aisle.

The click of her heels sounded from
behind him.  The heels stopped.  A gasp sounded in the aisle. 

Sutton turned and caught Miss Alexandra
Dunforth trying desperately to flee before being seen. The tiny form skittered
down another row and around a giant stack of periodicals from the Historical
Society and out of his view.

Sutton stopped moving.   When
he’d lived in Macao, he went on a tiger hunt with a group of Portuguese
dignitaries. The men all hunters confident in their abilities, stomped through
the jungle in an attempt to flush out the beast.  But, not Sutton. 
He’d climbed the highest tree within reach.  While the rest of the hunting
party continued to track the beast through the jungle, Sutton waited on a branch,
feet dangling and gun ready.   The tiger eventually appeared behind
the hunting party.  Sutton bagged it.  He was a patient man. 
Besides, Badgers weren’t nearly as subtle as tigers.

He heard a tiny sniff, like the sound of
a mouse choking on a piece of cheese.  Whirling to his left, he looked
through the stack of periodicals.  Wide gray eyes, the color of a stormy
sky popped up, then, vanished, as Alexandra attempted to escape in another
direction.

He caught a flash of her green gown as
she hurried down the aisle.  Sutton turned abruptly and calmly walked the
way he had come.  He simply stood still and let her run into him.