They set off at a quick pace toward Berkeley Square in James’s curricle. The light breeze felt cool on her cheeks and she was glad she had chosen to wear the pelisse. It was not the fashionable hour to be out, but there were a number of vehicles whose occupants paused to converse. Calliope sighed inwardly as she forced herself to flirt and dissemble with the various men they encountered.
After what seemed an inordinately long period of time, they arrived at Gunter’s Tea Shop, on the east side of the square. James stopped the bays under a spreading maple tree across the street. As Calliope stood, James put a restraining hand on her arm.
"There’s no need to rise, my dear. "
Calliope sank back into the seat, embarrassed for forgetting etiquette. In the past she had strolled into Gunter’s to buy an ice, whereas the beau monde did not find this necessary. Ices were brought to them. It was considered de rigueur.
The square was busy as usual. Vehicles of all styles and speeds occupied the lanes. Participants were sightseeing or vying to be seen. Gossiping matrons in slowly plodding chaises were passed by young bucks in high-seated phaetons weaving precariously through the traffic. Smartly dressed couples lounging in. landaus yielded to spirited horsemen who raced irreverently down the path. It was a wonderful spectator sport.
In the midst of the frenzy, waiters dodged in and out of the traffic. Calliope typically liked to watch them wend their way. But it didn’t seem as enjoyable when one of them was risking life and limb for her. She watched their waiter start across the lane. A phaeton shot past and the waiter pulled back to avoid the collision. He darted forward and encountered an older high-flyer phaeton as it rocked by, its driver trying to prevent it from tipping. It barely missed him. The waiter sidestepped an ancient landau and catapulted to their side as a curricle blazed by.
James uncurled her left hand from her skirt. His gaze had been focused on the waiter, and had never glanced her way during the perilous crossing, but somehow he had sensed her concern. She scarcely heard him order and then the waiter was off again. She somehow managed to keep her eyes open as she watched him cross the street and re-enter the shop.
James looked at her in amusement. "One would think you had never been here before."
Her head shot up. "I don’t see the problem with getting out and ordering ourselves."
He waggled a linger and touched the tip of her nose. "Much better for my consequence this way."
She had to smile. "I’m not sure that it needs any more tending, my lord."
James raised a haughty eyebrow. "One’s consequence always needs tending."
She laughed. "I’ll bet you put all the others to shame."
"I believe in being the best at everything I do."
"Well, I’ll admit you excel at being a pain in the-"
"Here you are, my lady."
Calliope glanced at the waiter standing beside the carriage in surprise. He had already returned with two ices.
"Thank you."
She averted her eyes as he barreled back across traffic. James muttered about sneering women and the merits of buying them treats. Calliope ignored him and spooned a mouthful of ice.
"I swear this is ambrosia. It’s heavenly."
James had stopped muttering and was heartily digging into his own ice. "It’s not bad."
She waved a spoonful of the divine concoction. "Not bad? That is like saying that the pyramids are not bad or that the Sistine Chapel is not bad, or that a symphony by Mozart is not bad, or-” She caught his grin and pointed the spoon at him. "In any case, you take my meaning."
She punctuated the statement by plummeting the spoon to her mouth. It made it halfway in. The other half caused ice cream to dribble down her cheek.
She giggled.
He looked at her and laughed.
She tried to lick the ice cream off.
He stopped laughing. He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbled gently at her lips. "I could think of a better way to clean it off."
His eyes suddenly made her pelisse useless.
"Maybe we should go to Hookham’s and see if there are any books on seals or signets?" Calliope said as she studied her ice.
"Coward."
"Maybe."
"Esmerelda. Angelford. How good to see you both."
Robert Cruikshank rolled up next to them. His greeting belied his expression.
"Good day, Mr. Cruikshank. Nice weather we are having," Calliope said with a forced smile.
Robert looked irritated.
"Yes, it is. I was hoping to see Mr. Chalmers. Have you seen him about?"
"Oh, he is gallivanting in the country for a few days. You know how Stephen is."
Robert sent her an admonishing glance, but was unable to continue because a team of grays was eager to move beyond. He nodded a polite farewell.
James watched Robert’s retreating figure. "I had forgotten that he knows Stephen well. We’ll need to add his name to the list."
Startled, Calliope turned to him. "Why would Robert be on our list?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "Robert?"
"Mr. Cruikshank. He is a distant relation of Stephen’s." She added hastily.
"Very distant. Hmmm…"
"There is no need to discuss him further, he is not a suspect."
James’s eyes narrowed. "No? You seem awfully sure of yourself. I wonder why."
"Trust me, he isn’t."
"Yes, well, let’s go to Hookham’s as you suggested."
Calliope was relieved to be moving again and away from any conversation concerning Robert.
They had spent an hour in Hookham’s searching through books but had discovered nothing new. The sun was dipping in the sky as they rolled down the street toward her townhouse. The trees and plants were in bloom, flowers perking their heads up here and there. It was pleasant.
James stopped the bays in front of the house. "I’m famished. An ice and a few biscuits do not count as a meal."
She looked up and felt her stomach gurgle its agreement.
"I have something in mind. I’ll gather our papers and speak to Grimmond," he continued.
"What are you thinking?"
"We’ll go to my townhouse."
A gust of uncertainty swept Calliope. "I’m not sure that is such a good idea… "
He looked at her in amusement. "I think your 'virtue' will be kept intact in a house full of my servants."
She mumbled under her breath.
"Besides, my chef, Louis, is an absolute genius in the kitchen. Wellington was trying to steal him out from under my nose last month. "
As he exited the curricle, he elaborated on the fabulous dishes and pastries that his chef routinely prepared.
By the time he returned with the papers, she was ready to grab the reins from him and urge the bays to greater speed, her mouth watering with anticipation from his delicious descriptions.
They arrived at his townhouse on St. James’s Street a scant ten minutes later and her hunger threatened to overcome her.
He surveyed her with amusement as she ascended the steps ahead of him. "I think I’ll go first, if you don’t mind. You might eat Templeton otherwise, and I would really despair if I lost my butler. Remind me to feed you regularly from now on."
She was too hungry to think straight, but her brain registered that the personal remark implied future events.
Templeton met them at the door and removed her pelisse.
"Templeton, we need dinner to be served as quickly as possible."
Templeton nodded in his austere way and headed through the narrow hallway beneath the stairs.
This was only the second time Calliope had been in his townhouse and she studied the gorgeous ceiling. "I must say that I love the ceiling. It’s quite exquisitely detailed."