Page 56 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
Her statement was so ludicrous that only by force of will did he keep from laughter. He lowered his head and bit his lip and managed somehow to appear so modest that Clarissa rested her glorious blonde hair against his arm for a long moment.
“You must tell Papa all about your philanthropic work among the felons when we see him in Bath in three days.”
Good heavens, what have I promised?he asked himself wildly.When did I ever say I would go to Bath? Could that have been when I was admiring her bosom during the interval at the opera and nodded?He quickened his pace toward the entrance.
“I don’t precisely remember Bath,” he began cautiously as he directed the porter to bring his curricle. He staved off the beginnings of a pout by a quick kiss on her forehead, wondering what else he had promised Clarissa Partridge. “Perhaps you could refresh my memory.”
“Silly boy,” she began, generous in her scold. “I’m sure you have so much more on your mind than little me.”
You can’t imagine, he thought and kissed her hand. “Oh, you are a dear one,” he mumbled. It made no sense, but Clarissa would never know.
“Papa is in Bath because of his gout, and you promised Mama and me that you would accompany us there on Thursday,” she reminded him.
Did I?He slapped his forehead. “Oh, of course, my love,” he said. “Silly me.”
She dimpled prettily and let him help her into the curricle. “You said you wanted to talk to Papa about something.” She blushed and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I can’t imagine what. . .”
I am to be married, he thought wildly. It was a cool day, but he could feel sweat forming on his spinal column. He took his time going around to the other side of the curricle.Calm, calm, John, he told himself.You know this is what you want.
“I am certain Sir Cecil and I will think of something to say to one another,” he teased, feeling as though someone else was speaking through his mouth and he was standing outside his skin, watching. “My dear, if it chances that my business should take another day, would Friday be amenable to your plans?”
“I am sure Mama and I would be only too happy to delay our departure and give you one more day to do good. John, you cannot imagine how I feel.”
Nor I, he agreed, starting his horse off at a sedate pace, when he really longed to snap the whip and leap hedgerows.I know this is what I want, and I will make Emma ever so proud. Why are my hands shaking?
He was able to convince her to come to the Home Office with him, assuring her that he would only be a minute. He left her standing in the entrance and sprinted toward the Office of Criminal Business. He would go to the porter and ask for an appointment with Mr. Capper on the morrow; perhaps he could learn Emma’s business that way.
He hurried to the anteroom door and stopped. Emmastood there alone in the room, her back to the door. He looked around in surprise. No one else was there except the porter, who was busying himself with papers on his desk.How strange, he thought.Surely Emma arrived early enough this morning for an audience.He tiptoed quietly away from the office and met Clarissa at the main lobby.
“This is a dreadful place,” she whispered to him as she grabbed his arm. “I have never seen so many sinister-looking fellows.”
“And those are just the solicitors,” he joked. She looked at him blankly, and he knew then that his future would involve explaining witticisms to his wife. “Well, never mind, my dear. Let me drive you home now.”
He resisted her invitation to dinner, assuring her that he would not faint from hunger between Whitcomb and Curzon Streets, and promising her that he would take her driving tomorrow afternoon. “We will discuss this delightful expedition to Bath, my dear,” he said as he blew a kiss in her general vicinity, leaped into his curricle as soon as the door closed, and sprang his horse back to the city.
Emma was not in the anteroom when he returned, out of breath from running through emptying corridors. The porter was gathering up his papers and climbing down from his stool by the inner door.
“We’re closed now, sir,” he said, nodding to Lord Ragsdale. “Come again in the morning.”
“I am sure that won’t be necessary now,” he said as he approached the porter. “That pretty woman who was here a moment ago ... did she finally get in to see Mr. Capper?”
The porter laughed and shook his head. “I love to diddle the Irish!” He winked at Lord Ragsdale. “She can keep coming back week after week until she wears out, and she’ll never get through that door.”
Lord Ragsdale stared at him. “What are you saying?”
The porter grinned back. “I’m saying that I have no usefor the Irish. I think they should all be transported, and not just a select few.”
And so I thought too, he considered, pausing to catch his breath.I hated them all, but now I just worry.He tried again.
“Was she asking for information about someone transported to Australia?”
“Well, laddie, America’s out now. Where else do we send them felons?”
“I’m Lord Ragsdale to you,” he snapped, suddenly furious, and fighting down the strong inclination to grab the man by his neckcloth and do him damage. “Give me a straight answer, or it’s your job tomorrow.”
The porter obviously believed him. His eyes widened, and he hurried to straighten his coat and run a hand through his thinning hair. “I means no disrespect, my lord,” he gasped. “She ... she said something about wanting to know the whereabouts of some prisoners transported after the Castle Hill Revolt in 1803.”
Lord Ragsdale nodded. Castle Hill. He remembered reading about it in the London papers over his morning brandy. There were hangings, which only pleased him at the time, and a man who declared that no one would write his epitaph until Ireland took her rightful place among the nations. He remembered laughing over that bit of high Irish drama.
