Page 13 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
Suzannah blinked as she realized a young woman was speaking to her. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen, wearing a pretty sky-blue gown. A gentleman in his late twenties sat astride a horse not too far away. He held the reins of a second horse, which must have belonged to the girl.
“How much?” Suzannah echoed in confusion.
“This painting. The one with the horses.” The young woman pointed at one of Suzannah’s finished pieces that showed a pair of horses frolicking in a field of wildflowers.
“Oh. That one is three shillings.”
“Cedric, may I buy this?” the girl asked over her shoulder.
The young man slid out of the saddle and removed a few coins from his purse. He offered Suzannah a charming smile.
“Which one do you want, Horatia?”
“This one,” the girl said and pointed to the one she liked. Her brother examined it carefully and seemed as impressed as the young woman.
“Three shillings, you say?” he asked.
Suzannah swallowed hard and nodded.
“Very well. Anything for mydearsister.” The man called Cedric tugged on one of the young woman’s loose curls with a chuckle. He held out the coins to Suzannah, who accepted them gratefully. Suzannah retrieved some brown wrapping paper and folded the painting up in it before giving it to the young woman.
“Thank you. You’re very talented.”
The compliment made Suzannah momentarily forget her worries. It wasn’t until she sat back down on the bench and watched the pair leave that she remembered the conversation she’d just overheard.
Lord Kentwell’s son.Seven years...Had it really been seven years? She shuddered.
That trial had destroyed her father. He had refused to testify until his employer, Maynard Walsh, told him that he must. Her father had refused to speak to her about anything to do with the trial, but she’d overheard him finally agree to testify when pressed by Walsh.
The matter had upset her father so much that she’d never dared to bring it up. She’d never met the young man her father had helped to bring to justice, but something about the situation, and her father’s actions in it had felt wrong. She had heard him muttering when he thought he was alone that it wasn’t right to send the Hollingsworth boy to prison to hang. The entire incident had haunted her father. Even on his deathbed, he’d murmured the nameChristopherover and over.
Now Christopher Hollingsworth was back. His death sentence had been commuted to seven years’ transportation, he’d survived his time in the penal colonies, and that was the end of the story. Her path and his would never cross, and even if they did, he would never recognize her. She’d been a young child when he’d last seen her. She need not worry further about it.
She painted fiercely the rest of the afternoon, then packed up her supplies and unsold paintings and carried them home. There was a rehearsal for the play tonight, and she wanted to examine the forest again to make sure everything was to her satisfaction before she began working on another set piece.
When she reached her room at the boardinghouse, she halted just beside the doorway. She caught a glimpse of a green hair ribbon tied in an elegant bow around the handle of the door. The memory of last night’s unexpected rescue came back to her. Had the tall, bearded man with calloused hands and gentle eyes returned her favorite ribbon? She set her painting supplies on the floor and untied the ribbon from the door handle. She glanced about, even though there was no one else in the corridor.
“Thank you,” she whispered and clutched the silk ribbon to her chest. “Whoever you are.”
* * *
“Bloody hell,you look like yourself again,” Darius exclaimed as Kit left his bedchamber. The barber that Palmer had brought in had trimmed his shoulder-length hair so that it was fashionable, but not too short. Kit’s beard and mustache were gone, revealing his square jaw and straight nose that led down to his stern-looking mouth.
Kit had been considered a handsome lad, but now he looked fierce, commanding. But he also felt more exposed. He ran his palm over his clean-shaven chin and grimaced.
“I feel naked,” he admitted.
“I imagine you do. That was quite a beard you had, my friend.”
Kit paused in front of the waist-high mirror in the corridor and ran his fingers through his dark hair.
“Oh, stop preening or Warren will tease you for being a peacock.”
With a heavy sigh, Kit left his hair alone and adjusted his new coat. The burgundy-colored coat had been tailored to perfection, but Kit was not used to feeling so restricted by his clothing. He moved his arms a little, frowning. It was going to take some getting used to this style of clothing again.
“Come now, we need to meet everyone at Berkley’s,” Darius urged. He retrieved his hat from the footman, who was waiting patiently by the door.
Kit followed his friend outside, and they climbed into Darius’s coach. He slid his hand into his pocket instinctively, expecting to find the green silk ribbon.
