"If that is a compliment, I thank you. You said the length of your stay was undecided, Lady Crieff. Have you come to any conclusion yet?"
"Why, Mr. Hartly, you sound as if you are trying to get rid of me."
"You would have to be shatter-brained to come to that conclusion-and you are not shatter-brained. My concern is that I must be off to London soon, and I wondered when I might expect to see you there. I should like to call on you, if you permit."
Moira's happiness at hearing he wished to continue the acquaintance was diluted with fear. Was he darting off to London to report to his superiors? “I have not decided when I shall go, nor where I shall stay. If you would give me your direction, I could let you know when I arrive."
"Alas, like yourself, I shall be putting up at whatever hotel has a room vacant. Is there no friend or relative I might apply to, to discover your address?"
"I have not decided whether I shall be in touch with Sir Aubrey's relatives or not. I have never met them. They might be horrid. It would be best if you gave me the name of someone I could notify when I arrive."
After a brief pause, Hartly said, “I shall be calling on my cousin, Lord Daniel Parrish, at Hanover Square. You could write to me there."
She blinked to hear him calmly drop a title into the conversation. Hartly must indeed be related to the gentleman, or he could not use his address. Lord Daniel might very well have got his cousin appointed to the plum position of Revenue inspector. It was beginning to seem that Cousin Vera was right, and Mr. Hartly was here at the behest of the government to snoop into smuggling. While this was vexing, it was better than having him allied with Stanby. She concluded that Hartly was a decent, respectable, handsome young gentleman-and he was receiving a wretched opinion of her.
A small, wistful sigh escaped her lips. Looking at her, Hartly was struck with her youth and unhappiness. He felt convinced that this innocent young girl had nothing to do with Stanby. She had been inveigled into marrying Sir Aubrey by an avaricious father, and now that her husband was dead, she was running off to London. There was nothing wrong in that. It was what any venturesome lady would do, if she had the pluck.
"I hope you will write to me at Hanover Square, Lady Crieff,” he said earnestly. “I should like to see you again."
Upon hearing that note of earnestness, she peered shyly at him. Their eyes held for a long moment, then the movements of the dance drew them apart. Moira felt she was really talking to Mr. Hartly for the first time. He seemed different tonight, more approachable. If he was here only because of smugglers, then she could tell him her true plight, and perhaps get him to help her.
What would he think of her, trying to steal twenty-five thousand pounds? Legally, that was what she was doing. The money was hers and Jonathon's by rights, but not by law. No, it was too risky to tell him, but perhaps, after she had regained her fortune, she might write to him at Hanover Square and see him again, away from Owl House. To confess a fait accompli was easier than to involve him in it.
"Yes, I shall write, Mr. Hartly,” she said.
A look of gentle satisfaction settled on his face. “I consider that a promise. And by the by, my friends call me Daniel. It is a family name I share with Lord Daniel Parrish."
The old Lady Crieff would have smiled boldly and made some pert remark. This Lady Crieff blushed and said, “We have not been acquainted very long to be using first names, Mr. Hartly."
"That will teach me to try to force a friendship on an unwilling lady. My lesson last night was not enough for me."
"Oh, I am not unwilling! And last night was not entirely your fault. I… I should not have invited you in for wine. I have never been alone at an inn before-without a proper chaperon, I mean. One forgets there are not butlers or footmen about. I have been thinking about last night, and realize I should have been more careful. Using first names seems a little fast."
Her explanation satisfied Hartly's lingering doubts. A greenhead of a girl might very well be unaware of the danger in inviting a man into her room. Lady Crieff had not the advantage of a proper upbringing, but he felt her instincts were genteel.
"I look forward to calling you Bonnie, and hearing you call me Daniel, but we shall withhold first names until we meet again in London."
It was not until that moment that Moira realized she was, in fact, not going to London. She and Jonathon would return to the Elms, and she would never see Mr. Hartly again. It lent a bittersweet quality to the dance.
"When, exactly, are you leaving?” she asked, rather sadly.
He studied her for a moment, then said, “Do you know, I begin to think I shall prolong my stay a little."
"Oh, no! Please, you must not do so on my account.” What had she done? He had been on the point of leaving, and she had induced him to remain, where he would create endless mischief for the Marchbanks, discovering even more details of the smuggling.
His eyebrows rose. “Well, now I am the one who feels you are trying to be rid of me."
"You must not change your plans on my account. I will not hear of it. Lord Daniel is expecting you."
"No, he is not. I shall call on him when I arrive, but he is not waiting on tenterhooks for me. I shall stay."
He wondered at her reaction-more resigned than happy.
Lady Crieff played the flirt with Stanby when she stood up with him. It was Stanby who had brought her to Blaxstead, and she was not about to lose sight of the fact, even though her mind kept harking back to Hartly.
Stanby said, “I have been thinking over what you told me, about selling your jewelry, Lady Crieff. Of course, it belongs to you by rights, but the law takes little account of rights."
"I know it well,” she said grimly.
"If the pieces show up in London, they will be traced back to the jeweler, and eventually to you. Selling what does not legally belong to you is a hanging crime."
"But they are mine! I must sell them! I have not a sou to my name."
"My idea is that you place them with someone who could peddle them abroad for you."
"I need the money now. And how could I trust this ‘someone'? I know no one who travels abroad."
"You know me,” he said simply. “As to your needing money now, I could let you have-say, five thousand, in advance."
So that was his game, the sly rogue! “You are very kind, Major, and naturally I am not calling your character into question, but the fact is, I do not know you all that well."
He smiled benignly. “Time will remedy that, Lady Crieff. There is no immediate rush."
The major's arms felt like a serpent winding around her. Her flesh crawled, to see his gooseberry eyes alight with greed. She was vastly relieved when the dance was over.
Mr. Ponsonby claimed the next dance. He was a dead bore, but at least he was not Lionel March. Although Ponsonby had made a game of drinking water since yesterday, it was soon apparent that he had been consuming a deal of brandy or wine as well. Both his speech and his dancing were erratic.
The blazing grate and the heated bodies raised the temperature of the Great Room to an uncomfortable degree. The caterwauling of the fiddles and cello pounded in her ears.
It seemed an age before the dancing was over, and the party sat down to a late-night dinner at tables hastily assembled by the servants. Lady Marchbank had gathered her own chums at her table, thus making it impossible for Hartly to join them.
It was while they were eating that Lady Marchbank leaned aside and said to Jonathon, “I see Hartly has skipped out. Now where the deuce could he be? Would you mind taking a scout about to see what he is up to?"
Jonathon excused himself and left at once. Lady Marchbank leaned aside and said to Moira, “Hartly is not among us. Jon has gone to have a look for him."
Moira felt a chill seize her. If worst came to worst and Hartly discovered the smuggling game, she would have to beg him not to report it. If she had any influence with him, she must use it to save the Marchbanks.