Calamity Claresta Read online

  "I shall take that as a compliment, sir."

  "As it was intended, I assure you. Do have a seat." Denton indicated the high backed crimson chairs in front of his desk. He took his chair behind the desk and said to Drake, "I must say, I'd about given up hope that you would claim your inheritance a'tall, my lord. Your great-uncle has been dead neigh on five years now. Funds have been quite depleted due to maintenance of the properties, you see."

  "Could we just get on with it, sir?"

  Denton pushed his spectacles up his bulbous nose. "Yes, yes, of course. I can see you've not had a chance to freshen up, so you must be very anxious to have done with the formalities."

  Drake was getting tired of everyone referring to his poor state of dress. He was eager to remedy the situation as soon as possible and hoped his trunks would be at the Clarendon by the time he arrived. He couldn’t help wondering if Miss Huntington might be experiencing some embarrassment by his appearance. Something had caused her lovely smile to disappear since entering Denton's office.

  The solicitor asked, "I assume you've brought your paperwork with you, my lord."

  Drake patted his pockets and came up with a sheaf of papers he handed over to Mr. Denton. The solicitor unfolded the communiqué and after a pregnant pause, he read aloud, "Find a reputable valet. Order a carriage--"

  Drake snatched the instructions compiled by his stepmother from Denton's hands. "Sorry, wrong paper."

  Claresta's good humor returned when her future husband--for she was determined now it was to be so--was unable to produce the papers in question. He put on a good show of searching, but she suspected it had been for her benefit. Apparently the fellow had heard about this Earl of Norwood's inheritance and, not realizing the extent of legal verification required, decided to lay claim to the estates.

  "Perhaps your lordship left the papers in your trunks, or you could have dropped them somewhere. At the inn perhaps," she suggested with raised brow.

  He looked at her as if she'd grown horns atop her head and mumbled, "Those blasted children!"

  * * *

  As the gentleman escorted Claresta to her carriage, she dismissed the forlorn expression on his face as part of his act. She expected that next he would ask her for a loan for room and board until he could find these mysterious papers. A loan she would be happy to advance him, once he agreed to her conditions.

  "Do not worry, sir, for 'tis but a minor setback."

  "Minor setback," he repeated with a heavy breath. "I fear it may take several weeks to requisition a replacement of the paperwork Denton requires."

  Claresta truly gloated inside, but she managed a sympathetic smile.

  "Since the only funds I brought were stolen as well, I'm afraid I shall be hard pressed to repay your kindness any time soon, Miss Huntington," Drake said ruefully.

  "Fret not, sir. You have a room at the Clarendon, you say?" No doubt the American had heard of the famous hotel and threw it out randomly while trying to impress her with his position. She had not enjoyed such entertainment since she was a child and played such hooks and crooks on her father and his friends.

  "Yes. But, I shall not impose on you further." Drake tipped his hat. "Until we meet again."

  "Wait!" Claresta gripped his loose coat sleeve. This was not going as she had envisioned, but surely he was bluffing. "There's no need for you to walk, sir. My companion and I would be happy to drop you at the Clarendon on our way home."

  "No need, ma'am. I might ask you to point me in the right direction, however. Walking is the best way I know to clear a body's head, and mine is more than a bit muddled at the moment."

  "But-but," Claresta stammered, trying to think of a way to detain her prospective fiancé. "You may have trouble getting your accommodations approved without money for a deposit, or--or proof of who you are. Sir, if that be the case, I'm acquainted with the manager at the Clarendon and am certain he would accept my recommendation."

  Drake narrowed his eyes on the comely chit. It hadn't passed his notice that she referred to him as sir now instead of my lord. Obviously she didn't believe him the heir to the Norwood title anymore than Denton had. The solicitor had practically tossed him from his office.

  Either Miss Huntington was a fool or the most generous human being he'd ever met. He opted to believe the latter, for he remembered her act of kindness before he'd ever told her about his inheritance.

  "There is no need to worry about me, my dear." He lifted her gloved hand briefly to his lips. Finding her delicate fragrance appealing, he lingered over her hand longer than he should. " If the Clarendon won't take me in, then I'll find accommodations elsewhere. I'm not unused to sleeping beneath the stars when necessary."

  The trek into town from Oakcrest was a long one, and there were no inns along the way, but he did not think Miss Huntington would understand such rustic living. Drake knew he was right when her eyes clouded up. He cursed his ill-bred manners for causing the worry lines that appeared across her beautiful forehead. A strange desire to kiss more than her hand almost overwhelmed him. He stepped back, hoping the distance would curb his other more sinful reactions, and said, "I fear I've caused you undue concern, Miss Huntington. Knowing Druscilla, I imagine she stuffed some extra coins into my luggage, and there shall be nothing to worry about."

  Instead of reassuring the lovely, the frown furrowing her brow deepened. She swallowed, and Drake found it difficult to tear his eyes away from the delicate movement of her slender throat.

  "Druscilla? Your wife?" she squeaked.

  The old lady who'd been quietly waiting near the carriage snorted loudly.

  Drake would have laughed, but it would be very ill mannered, and he did not wish to embarrass the sweet flower standing before him. He realized now why she had helped him. He'd attracted the opposite sex many times before, but most of the society women were more subtle in letting him know it. Perhaps things worked differently with the English.

  "Druscilla is my step-mother."

  "Your step-mother?" Claresta felt enormous relief, for she had not thought of the possibility that Drake Lockwood was already married. It would be extremely inconvenient if she had to begin her search for a husband all over again. She wouldn't be likely to find another from the dock area with such impeccable manners and so agreeable to look upon. She shivered inside at the tingling sensation remaining on the back of her gloved hand from his brief kiss.

  "My step-mother," he repeated. "I only just thought of it, but she often treats me like the ten year old I was when she first married my father. In this case I reckon I ought to be grateful."

  "But you are not?"

  "Let's just say I'm capable of taking care of myself. But if Druscilla has held true to form, then I will be grateful in this one instance, for I'll be able to see that you are reimbursed sooner than I could have hoped otherwise."

  "Then you will come to Gilbert House for dinner tomorrow evening. If your step-mother did not leave things as you expect, we can discuss particulars on another way you can repay me."

  Drake lifted a dark brow.

  Claresta blushed, realizing how inappropriate her proposition sounded without explanation. He seemed to ignore another nasal titter from her circumspect companion and turned to gather directions to the hotel from her coachman.

  She watched anxiously as Drake Lockwood strolled away and wondered if he were really going to the Clarendon. How would she maintain contact if she couldn't find him again? Then she remembered Denton read "valet" from the list presented to him by mistake.

  "Shipley," she said as she extracted several guineas from her purse. "The gentleman needs a valet. I wish you to offer your services to Lockwood. Make certain he's properly registered at the Clarendon and see to any other of his needs."

  "I daresay, he doesn't seem the sort to accept such generosity, Miss." The butler dubiously scrutinized the coins she held in her open palm.

  "Yes, yes, of course you're right," Claresta said, thinking Shipley meant the man would balk
at accepting the money from a servant. "He did seem to relish a proud streak, didn't he? But, I believe he's in need of assistance. And he may be our last hope, Shipley. Pray, do what you can to appease his proud streak and I'll see to the rest."

  "Very well, Miss." Shipley turned and followed the unsuspecting bridegroom without taking Miss Huntington's coins.

  "Well, if that don't beat all," Nan sniffed as she watched the reserved butler disappear around the corner. "'Tis the most words that man's spoken in years."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Alone, Reginald Huntington, Baron Westhaven, paced Claresta’s office. He hoped she would not still be so angry with him that she would refuse to frank him enough for a game or two of piquet at Lord Marchand’s card party tonight. Things would be so much easier if he had access to the company safe, he thought, eyeing the locked apparatus in the corner of the warehouse office. He observed the untidy desk and wondered if perhaps his cousin had left a guinea or two lying about the disorganized stacks of papers.

  He moved closer to examine the desktop and uncovered a small cask that appeared to have possibilities. An acrid smell snaked out and set him to wheezing and sneezing.

  Reginald covered his offended nose with his handkerchief and suddenly wished he’d waited until his cousin returned home later in the day instead of coming to this odorous and disagreeable haunt of hers. But, blast it, Claresta had not answered his three missives pleading with her to visit him and his mother in Grosvenor Square where their business could be conducted in private. His creditors were becoming impatient, and he, quite desperate.

  Damn his cousin and her clutchfisted ways. It was quite humbling to have to plead with her for an advance on his quarterly allotment. She even had the audacity to lecture him about the results of constant gaming. Although she did not speak it aloud, he knew she was thinking of his own father’s disgrace. He plopped down in the chair behind the large desk. If he were to be forced to wait, he might as well make good use of his time. One at a time, he jerked open the desk drawers and rummaged around inside for any loose coins Claresta might have hoarded there. Finding nothing but more dusty papers, he slammed the last drawer closed. He stood up and looked about for another source to pry into. But, his eyes began to burn again, and he had to wipe them to see clearly.

  * * *

  Claresta swung the door to her office open and came to a standstill when she saw Reggie standing behind her desk. She wondered that the gamboge yellow coat and orange breeches he wore did not strike her blind.

  He dropped the handkerchief away from his face and greeted her with an innocent, ready smile that was diluted somewhat by the moisture accumulating around his eyes. The air was filled with a pungent odor Claresta recognized as coming from the sample cask of asafetida.

  Reggie moved from behind her desk, dabbing at his eyes as he greeted her. "My dear, cousin. How lovely you look today."

  Claresta arched a suspicious brow, for Reggie’s compliments usually preceded a petition for money. She gave him a negligible nod and said, "I daresay, you should have sent word you were coming, my lord. I’m expecting a client at any moment and am a bit pressed for time."

  Reggie lifted his lace handkerchief to abort another sneeze when she fanned a stack of papers from the desk and sent a waft of dust and incense flying into the air. "Good Lord, Claresta, this dwelling is hideous. Don’t you ever have it cleaned?"

  She did, but she thought it a waste of time explaining how impossible the task due to the openness and constant traffic in and out of the office from the warehouse. Dirt also flew in from the windows, the only ventilation and relief from the, sometimes overwhelming, scents of spices and other aromatic merchandise.

  She recapped the small cask of asafetida, then set about straightening the clutter of paperwork. She wished Reggie would go about his business as quickly as possible. When the warehouse clock chimed the noon hour, she prompted, "It must have been a pressing matter for you to come out at such an early hour, Lord Westhaven."

  Her cut went over Reginald’s head as he preened at her use of his title. She rarely showed him such respect, usually referring to him by the nickname she’d attached to him in their youth instead.

  "Pressing, indeed, Claresta. I have come to make amends for our little tiff the other evening. You must know my concern was only for your regard by the Beau Monde. Being seen alone at such entertainment as Vauxhall with the disreputable Viscount Langley could only damage your reputation."

  "My reputation?" Claresta almost laughed at the ridiculous attempt Reggie made to inveigle his way into her good graces. "Was it not you who recently informed me I’d already blackened my book beyond repair?"

  "Lud, ‘twas just a warning, Claresta. ‘Tis not too late, with my guidance, of course, to salvage your good name. I spoke to a gentleman recommended to me recently about taking over the affairs of Gilbert and Huntington, and I believe he can be depended upon to put things to rights. I cannot have my wife’s name bruited about in such a fashion."

  Claresta picked up a receiving bill and pretended to skim the contents. She was becoming quite tired of Lord Westhaven’s ongoing crusade. "You are attics to let, Reggie, if you still have illusions that you and I will wed." She lifted her gaze toward him and added with a dash of agitation, "And what right have you to discuss my affairs with anyone?"

  Her thick-witted cousin only gloated when she lost her temper, evidenced now by his sly, self-satisfied smile and suddenly superior air when he said, "You are the one holding to illusions, Claresta. Why don’t you quit making a cake of yourself and come about? You cannot doubt that I hold your own interests at heart. I have only two more months to wait and the inheritance will fall to me anyway."

  "I shall find a husband before then."

  "Never!" Westhaven declared and guffawed.

  "We shall see." Claresta’s confident smile seemed to fluster Reginald and leave his mouth hanging in mid-laugh. A knock sounded at the door, and she eagerly called, "Enter."

  Edwin stepped into the office. The brothers shared similar features; high forehead, long angular nose, and dimpled chin, but the resemblance ended there. Edwin stood a few inches taller than his brother but was much thinner through the shoulders. Claresta knew a few more years of maturing would take care of that slight. Reggie’s raking scrutiny of the young man indicated his disdain of Edwin’s somber gray suit and limp shirt points.

  Edwin cast his brother a discerning nod, then smiled amiably at his employer. "Claresta, the dye merchant has arrived. He is inspecting the shipment of indigo, but I instructed Martin to show him to the office when he is finished. Should I tell him you’re available?"

  "Yes, do." She then said to Reggie, "You will excuse me, my lord?"

  Lord Westhaven didn’t take well to being dismissed in favor of a merchant. He swiped his beaver hat off the rack so quickly he lost his grasp and dropped it to the floor. He whipped around and saw the glitter of amusement his cousin and brother exchanged. The blood rushed to his head as he picked up the hat, but he maintained his composure and said to Claresta, "Our discussion is not ended."

  "Yes, Reggie, it is quite ended."

  He remembered his immediate needs and sputtered, "But I wish to discuss--"

  "The answer is no, Reggie." Claresta knew he was about to ask for another advance, and she’d already warned him she’d not allow him to overextend his quarter allowance again. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a client waiting."

  In an angry flush, Westhaven flung open the door and in his haste to exit he bounced off Martin Shore’s hard frame. Like a pebble hitting cobblestone, he greeted the floor with a hard bounce.

  "Help me to my feet, you, er . . ." looking up at the simpleton Claresta employed for heavy labor, Reginald rethought the insult that was about to pass his lips. The man stood at least seven feet tall. His arms crossed over his chest put his lordship in mind of ancient cudgels used for battle.

  Edwin rushed to his brother’s assistance, but Lord Westhaven suffered anot
her indignity when a sharp ripping sound indicated his tight pantaloons had split a seam. He decided he could lay blame for his misfortune to Claresta’s abominable curse.

  He straightened his long coat, hoping it covered the backside exposure. The giant still hovered over him, and Reggie backed away a few steps before recollecting his much higher rank. Cautiously he informed the dullard, "Step aside, my good man. Can’t you see I’m in a rush?"

  Claresta gave her cousin points for ignoring the merchant’s muffled chuckle as he passed him. She greeted her client. "Mr. Frazier, you are punctual, as usual. Do come in. Edwin, I’ll need you to join us."

  The merchant waited for Claresta to take the seat behind the desk, then being a busy man himself, he immediately got to the business at hand. Once a price for the indigo was settled, he entreated her to store the merchandise until he was ready for it to be processed. Edwin, seated in the other chair facing the desk, piped in with, "Space in the warehouse is quite precious at this season."

  "Of course, I’d be more than willing to pay for storage," Frazier said.

  Edwin winked at Claresta when the dye merchant agreed to his request for a very generous sum for storage. Someday soon she suspected that Edwin would be more adept at running the business than she.

  She sat by quietly and allowed him to work out the details of the arrangement with the dye maker. When Edwin glanced at her with a proud gleam in his eyes, she realized her younger cousin was the only Huntington relation that she truly adored.

  The dear boy had offered to marry her himself, but she valued his friendship too much to hobble him to an arrangement he would feel honor bound to uphold for the rest of his life. Besides, she did not want to cause an even larger rift between he and his family.

  Aunt Ester and Reggie were already furious with Edwin for defying their wishes and taking the position of Claresta’s much depended upon assistant. They attributed his conduct to the youthful air of cynicism that surely no gentleman of the peerage would fault him for. "My dear, Edwin," she said, looking up at her lank-framed cousin after the client departed, "I’m quite proud of you. I never would have expected Mr. Frazier to offer such a generous storage fee."