Seven Stones to Stand or Fall (Outlander)

His lips pressed tight at that, but he answered.

“Not often.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m quite all right now. I’m sorry to have interrupted your day. Would you…” He hesitated, looking toward the orchid house. “Would you like me to present you to His Highness? Or to Princess Augusta, if you like; I know her.”

“Oh. No, no, that’s quite all right,” Minnie said hastily, getting up, too. Regardless of her own desires, which didn’t involve coming to the notice of royalty, she could see that the very last thing he wanted to do was to go anywhere near people, disheveled, shaken, and wheezing as he was. Still, he was pulling himself together before her eyes, firmness straightening his body. He coughed once more and shook his head doggedly, trying to rid himself of it.

“Your friend,” he said, with the decisive air of one changing the subject, “do you know him well?”

“My fr—oh, the, um, gentleman I was talking to earlier?” Apparently Mr. Bloomer hadn’t been quite fast enough in his disappearing act. “He isn’t a friend. I met him by the euphorbias”—she gestured airily, as though she and the euphorbias were quite good chums—“and he began telling me about the plants, so we walked on together. I don’t even know his name.”

That made him look sharply at her, but it was, after all, the truth, and her look of innocence was apparently convincing.

“I see,” he said, and it was obvious that he saw a good deal more than Minnie did. He thought for a moment, then made up his mind.

“I do know him,” he said carefully, and wiped a hand under his nose. “And while I would not presume to tell you how to choose your friends, I don’t think he’s a good man with whom to associate. Should you meet him again, I mean.” He stopped, considering, but that was all he had to say on the subject of Mr. Bloomer. Minnie would have liked to know Bloomer’s real name but didn’t feel she could ask.

There was a short, awkward silence, in which they stared at each other, half-smiling and trying to think what to say next.

“I—” Minnie began.

“You—” he began.

The smiles became genuine.

“What?” she asked.

“I was going to say that I think the prince has likely left the orchids to their own devices by now. You ought to go along, before anyone comes in. You don’t want to be seen alone in my company,” he added, rather stiffly.

“I don’t?”

“No, you don’t,” he said, his voice softer, regretful but still firm. “Not if you have any desire to be accepted in society. I meant what I said about my father and the family. I mean to change that, but for now…” Reaching out, he took her hands and drew her toward him, turning so they faced the entrance to the orchids. He was right; the conversation there had subsided to the mildly threatening hum of bumblebees.

“Thank you,” he said, still more softly. “You’re very kind.”

There was a smudge of rice powder on his cheek; she stood a-tiptoe and wiped it off, showing him the white on her thumb.

He smiled, took her hand again, and, to her surprise, kissed the tip of her thumb.

“Go,” he said, his voice very low, and let go her hand. She drew a deep breath and curtsied.

“I—all right. I’m…very happy to have made your acquaintance, Your Grace.”

His face changed like lightning, startling her terribly. Just as fast, he got it—whatever “it” was—under control and was once more the civil king’s officer. For that split second, though, he’d been pure rooster, an enraged cock ready to throw himself at an enemy.

“Don’t call me that. Please,” he added, and bowed formally. “I have not taken my father’s title.”

“I—yes, I see,” she said, still shaken.

“I doubt it,” he said quietly. “Goodbye.”

He turned his back on her, took a few steps toward the Chinese bowls and their mysterious flowers, and stood still, gazing down at them.

Minnie seized her fallen fan and parasol, and fled.





12





WERY WENGEFUL


Dear Miss Rennie,

May I beg the Honour of an Appointment with you at your earliest convenience? I wish to propose a Commission that I think very well suited to your considerable Talents.

Your Most Humble Servant,

Edward Twelvetrees





MINNIE FROWNED AT THE note. It was commendably brief but odd. This Twelvetrees spoke of her “talents” in a most familiar sort of way; clearly he knew what those talents were—and yet he gave no introduction, supplied no reference from one of her existing clients or connections. It made her uneasy.

Still, there was no sense of threat in the note, and she was in business. No harm in seeing him, she supposed. She’d be under no obligation to accept his commission if it, or he, seemed fishy.

She hesitated over whether to allow him to come to her rooms—but, after all, he had sent the note here; plainly he knew where she lived. She wrote back, offering to see him next day at three o’clock but making a mental note to tell one of the O’Higginses to come a bit early and hide in the boudoir, just in case.



“OH,” SHE SAID, opening the door. “So that’s it. I thought there was something a trifle odd about your note.”

“If you feel yourself offended, Miss Rennie, I willingly apologize.” Mr. Bloomer—alias Edward Twelvetrees, evidently—stepped in, not waiting for invitation, and obliging her to take a step back. “But I imagine a woman of your undoubted sense and experience might be willing to overlook a bit of professional subterfuge?”

He smiled at her, and, despite herself, she smiled back.

“I might,” she said. “A professional, are you?”

“It takes one to know one,” he said, with a small bow. “Shall we sit down?”

She shrugged slightly and gave Eliza a nod, indicating that she might bring in a tray of refreshments.

Mr. Twelvetrees accepted a cup of tea and an almond biscuit but left the latter lying on his saucer and the former steaming away unstirred.

“I shan’t waste your time, Miss Rennie,” he said. “When I left you in the princess’s glasshouse, I abandoned you—rather cavalierly, I’m afraid—to the company of His Grace, the Duke of Pardloe. Given the scandal attached to his family, I assumed at the time that you knew who he was, but from your manner when I observed you speaking with him, I revised this opinion. Was I right in thinking that you did not know him?”

“I didn’t,” Minnie said, keeping her composure. “But it was quite all right. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I left.” Just how long were you watching us? she wondered.

“Ah.” He’d been watching her face intently but at this broke off his inspection long enough to add cream and sugar to his tea and stir it. “Well, then. The commission for which I wish to engage your services has to do with this gentleman.”

“Indeed,” she said politely, and picked up her own cup.

“I wish you to abstract certain letters from the duke’s possession and deliver them to me.”