On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

The gentleman didn't answer, but turned the objects in his hands, holding up first one, an ornate gold inkstand, then the other, a gold-and-crystal perfume flask, to the fitful light filtering through the leaves.

"They'll fetch a few guineas, but he'll need more than that."

"More?" Lowering her reticule, the young lady stared. "But… those were the only pieces Edward mentioned…"

"I daresay. But poor Edward…" The gentleman slid the two objects into the capacious pockets of his driving coat and sighed. "I fear he's trying to be brave, but you can imagine, I'm sure, what it's like for him. Banished by his family, cast into a foreign gutter and left to starve, forgotten, with not a friend in the world—"

"Oh, no! Surely not. I can't imagine… I'm sure…" The young lady broke off. She stared through the dimness at the gentleman.

Who shrugged. "I'm doing all I can, but I don't move in these circles." He looked through the dark garden to where the fairy lights began, and farther, to where the elegant throng was dancing and laughing on the terrace.

The young lady drew herself up. "If I could help more… but I've already given all the money I have. And there aren't that many precious little objects lying about Ashford House, not ones that rightly might be Edward's."

The gentleman was silent for sometime, his gaze on the dancers, then he turned to the young lady. "If you really want to help — and I'm sure Edward would be eternally grateful — then there's plenty more items like these two that could help him, and that they" — with his head, he indicated the faraway crowd—"would like as not never miss."

"Oh, but I couldn't..." The young lady stared at him.

The gentleman shrugged. "If that's the way it is, then I'll tell Edward he'll have to manage on his own, that no matter what rat-infested, flea-ridden hovel he's now forced to live in, despite all the blunt his family and their friends have, there's no help for him here. He can give up all hope—"

"No! Wait." After a moment, the young lady sighed, a whispering surrender. "I'll try. If I see any little things that might suit—"

"Just pick them up and bring them to me." The gentleman glanced at the house. "I'll be in touch about where we can next meet."

He turned to leave — the lady put out a hand and caught his sleeve. "You will send the money to Edward straightaway — and tell him that / at least care?"

The gentleman studied her earnest expression, then nodded. "It will mean a lot to him, I'm sure."

With a bow, he turned and walked away through the trees. The young lady sighed, looked up at the distant terrace, then lifted her skirts and headed back to the house.

"Your pardon, ma'am, but Lord Calverton, the Misses Ash-ford, and Miss Ffolliot have called."

Louise looked up. Amelia blinked. They were sitting at their ease in the morning room at the back of the house, Louise reading a book, Amelia on the chaise perusing the latest issue of La Belle Assemblee.

From the comfort of her armchair, Louise shrugged. "Show them in here, Colthorpe." As the butler bowed and retreated, Louise smiled at Amelia. "Given it's the Ashfords, we may as well relax."

Amelia nodded absentmindedly, her gaze on the door. Luc had said nothing about calling this morning. After they'd returned to Lady Carstairs's reception room, he'd remained by her side, subtly but definitely there, until the end of the night. The Ashfords had dropped her at her parents' door; Luc had escorted her up the steps, bowed with his usual bored languor — and said not a word about any future engagement.

The door opened; Emily, Anne, and Fiona gaily bustled in. Amelia shut the periodical and laid it aside. Luc strolled in, impeccably turned out in a dark blue coat, breeches, and Hessians, as always darkly, dangerously handsome. The girls very correctly greeted her mother; Amelia tried to catch Luc's eye, but beyond a swift glance as he'd entered, he didn't look her way.

Then he was bowing over Louise's hand, greeting her mother with his usual polished grace. Alert, Louise waved him to the chaise; instead, he misinterpreted the gesture — purposely, Amelia was sure — and bowed. "Amelia."

She returned his nod, then watched in bemusement as he chose the armchair alongside her mother's and sat. The three girls fluttered over to perch around her. Luc turned to Louise; the girls turned to her.

"It's a lovely day outside."

"So very pleasant. Just a light breeze."

"We'd thought to take the air in the park, but Luc suggested—"

What Amelia wanted to know was what Luc was suggesting to her mother.

Smiling at the tableau of her daughter surrounded by the younger girls, all chattering, Louise looked at Luc and raised her brows. "I take it you don't find keeping an eye on Amelia as well as your sisters and Miss Ffolliot in the evenings too much of a trial?"

Luc met her gaze, succinctly replied, "No." Amelia was a trial, but he would manage. "Your daughter does, however, have a stubborn streak, and a tendency to go her own road, as you're doubtless aware."

"Naturally." Louise looked intrigued. He directed his gaze across the room, to where Amelia was listeni

ng to his sisters' and Fiona's entreaties. "She gets on well with my sisters, and my mother, too, of course, which makes things easier."