"Nineteen," she answered with uncertainty as to his purpose.
"And if she found herself in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in a situation far beyond her understanding or experience, would you not expect her peers to deal with her as a lady?"
"Of course." She glared at Sir Nigel. "I have known Amanda Carville her entire life. She is a sensible, kind-hearted miss who always acts just as she ought. If she claims she is not guilty, and Lady Royce shows she believes the girl is not guilty by taking her into her home, and a brave officer from the general's staff puts his own honor at stake for her, I, for one, am willing to believe her."
"She is innocent." Rex stated without hesitation. Daniel nodded his head in agreement.
"Two officers."
"Bah!" Sir Nigel repeated. "Of course the young bucks will back her story. Amanda Carville is nothing but a light skirt."
Rex held onto his temper with effort-and with another jab in the ribs from his cousin. He might be black and blue in the morning, but he would not be counting twenty paces, leaving Amanda without protection. "No," he told Lady Arbuthnot and the circle of eager guests who surrounded them. "The only one who claimed Miss Carville's disgrace is the man who wanted to keep her dowry for himself, after he stole her inheritance."
"He did?" Lady Arbuthnot gasped. A few of her friends fanned themselves with their hands. "I never knew. But I never did like that Hawley monster. That poor child." She glared at Sir Nigel, who made her a cursory bow, turned on his heel, and left without another word, shoving one portly matron aside.
Lady Arbuthnot asked Rex, almost as if he had prompted her, "My dear Lord Rexford, when did you say your mother was due to return to London?"
"Momentarily, depending on her own health and the weather," he said, trying for any plausible excuse for the delay. "Meanwhile she has ordered her beloved godchild placed under the care of thoroughly trustworthy women, who watch over Miss Carville's sickroom night and day."
Lady Arbuthnot beamed at Rex and Daniel, then at her friends. "Excellent. Do you know, I believe my daughter has a dance open after all?"
"So does mine!"
"And mine."
Oh, Lord.
Chapter Fifteen
They went to the Cocoa Tree next. The gamblers and gossipers there were not as fusty as the members at White's Club or Boodles. The cousins' reception was not warm, but their money was welcomed at the tables, especially when word arrived, as it always did, of the confrontation with Sir Nigel Turlowe.
"What did that Shakespeare chap say?" a castaway gentleman watching their game asked. "Something about, first, kill all the lawyers." He raised his glass. "Here's to the downfall of that social-climbing jackass."
The son of a marquis, the drunk had never worked a day in his life. The son of an earl, Rex understood about wanting to make something of oneself, but not on the backs of others. He raised his own glass, although he took a mere sip. "May he at least be proved wrong about Sir Frederick Hawley's murder."
"You say the gal did not blow his brains to smithereens?"
One of the card players gagged.
Rex frowned and said, "No, Miss Carville had cause to dislike the man, but she is a lady." That stopped any possible comment about Amanda's supposed fall from grace.
Rex reinforced his point with adding, "She is Lady Royce's godchild, don't you know." He figured that the countess's social standing ought to be good for something.
"Stands to reason, with you taking up the cause."
If the man was hinting for more gossip, he was wasting his time. "Family," Rex said, almost choking on the foreign word. "I never met the female before."
The cousins earned their acceptance at the table by losing, and by paying in coins, not in vouchers to be collected some time in the vague future. "Not like Sir Frederick's usual habit, eh?"
But no one claimed to hold the dead man's vowels. One down-at-heels young baronet owed Hawley a small sum, in fact, and wondered if he had to pay the heir.
A debt of honor was a debt of honor-that was the consensus among the inveterate gamblers, no matter the legality of the thing. And Sir Frederick's family needed the blunt. The son was trying to restore an ailing estate, wasn't he? And who would marry either of the girls now, guilty or not, without a generous dowry?
Rex made sure he lost to the baronet.
They moved on to a new gaming club Daniel patronized where the company was less lofty, less bound by scruples than greed. The wine was watered; the dice were likewise suspect. Again, Rex and Daniel swore Miss Carville was innocent. And an innocent. She was home ill, wasn't she? And again, they found nothing damning about Sir Frederick. No one liked the man, but no one seemed to hate him enough to kill him. As at the previous establishment, no one knew his friends, if he had any.
Their next stop was at McCann's Club, a favorite among military men. Rex wanted to look around, to spot a familiar figure, listen for a familiar voice. The Aide,
Major Harrison, or Mr. Harris, was either disguised so that Rex would not recognize him, or he was not wearing a disguise at all, in which case Rex would still not recognize him. Either that or he was not there. The manager swore he never heard of the man, by either of his names, but if an elderly gentleman fitting the description did happen to come by, the manager would give him a message from Rex. Rex held his coin away from the outstretched hand. No, he had no message. And no, he discovered, the upper rooms were not open to guests. They were reserved for the club's proprietors, with two guards watching the stairwell.
The cousins moved on to one of Daniel's more frequent haunts, a gaming hell just like the one where they'd been in the brawl, where they would not be welcome or safe anytime soon. The dive was noisier than any of the more genteel clubs, dirtier, with rougher company, higher stakes, and cheaper liquor.
Daniel was too familiar with the low clientele for Rex's comfort, knowing every serving girl by name, every sot passed out in the corners, all the toothless old gamblers, and the hard-eyed younger ones, who cleaned their filthy fingernails with stilettoes.
This was no place for his kin, no matter how big and strong Daniel was, or how friendly the whores. Rex decided it was a good thing he'd come to London when he had. Someone had to rescue dunderheaded Daniel before he caught the pox or a knife in the back.
Rex thought for a moment about going upstairs with one of the cleaner-looking bar maids, to slake the entirely inappropriate and totally unquenchable thirst for Miss Amanda Carville. He'd gone too long without a woman, he told himself. That was all it was: A man had certain needs. The only reason he thought of those needs and Amanda in the same breath was that he'd rescued the girl. He'd carried her and washed her, and tucked her up in bed. Now he felt protective of her, possessive, even.
He felt more than brotherly, though. Amanda was vulnerable, appearing so fragile and soft, but she was deuced appealing, too. No painted doxy stood tall and straight, with a lady's careful carriage. No wench in a gaming den had that glow of intelligence about her or the educated speech. No whore wore her innocence like a crown. And no, he knew a tumble on dirty sheets would not satisfy his need.
Neither would a visit to a higher class of courtesan at one of the luxurious bordellos. For that matter, he could have answered any of the come-hither glances from the widows and wanton wives at Lady Arbuthnot's, but the lobster patties had seemed more appetizing. Damn, the only woman he wanted was the one he should not, could not have. The sooner he left London, the better.
For tonight, Rex was tired of the cards and the smoke-filled rooms. Never a gambler, he was bored with losing his brass to loosen tongues. They never found that Sir Frederick won or lost vast amounts, only that he seldom bought a round or left a coin for the dealer or paid his debts early. The man was a niggard, everyone agreed, a mean drunk, and not mourned overmuch, but he had no obvious enemies.