Page 26 of The Forger and the Duke
When she didn’t, Mal navigated them back to the Strand to Tom’s Coffee House, which was one of the few premises in town that admitted women. He watched Amaranthe’s face suffuse with pleasure at the rich smells that met them at the door, and her gaze followed the busy movement of patrons as they swapped news and gossip. Other gazes followed them, too, or more precisely Amaranthe as she moved to a space at one of the high tables and lay her reticule upon it. There was no denying that in Sybil’s things, she looked a duchess in truth. She possessed an air of self-command and a quick, droll wit that did not suffer fools.
“Tea? Coffee? Chocolate?” Mal winked. “They’ve stronger drinks as well, if you’d like a nip of wine.”
“Wine, at this hour.” That enchanting twitch to her lips. “Tea, please.”
“I would have taken you for a chocolate drinker.”
“Indeed I adore it, but only on very special occasions. We do not often have tea.”
“You served it yesterday to the children.”
“Yes, because they were guests. The tax makes it dear for our household.”
The server drew the liquid tea from its cask and heated it, and Amaranthe closed her eyes in bliss as she sipped. Mal tried not to stare like a fool. Or try to imagine other ways he might bring that look to her face.
“Grey, I thought I spotted you down the street. And with a companion of the female persuasion. I simply had to come see for myself.”
“Vierling.” Mal greeted his friend, though Viktor was not as welcome a sight as usual. He was in uniform, and the scarlet coat with its gold sash made his chest look impressively broad, while the tall black jack boots and golden breeches showed the shape of his muscular legs. He carried his red and gold headdress under one arm and stood easily before Amaranthe, looking down at her with a smile.
“You look like you ought to be to horse,” Mal added. “Drill today?”
“We’re seeing off the next shipment of troops to the American colonies. Surprised you aren’t with them, old boy. When I didn’t see the tip of your nose all last night, I thought you’d made good on your promise to enlist.”
“I had other matters to preoccupy me,” Mal answered.
“I see that.” Viktor’s grin widened as he studied Amaranthe.
“Miss Illingworth,” Mal said shortly. “Viktor Vierling, the wastrel son of an obscure German count, presently of the 2d Horse Grenadier Guards, where he has made no good account of himself. Viktor, this is Miss Amaranthe Illingworth, sister to the tutor who looks after Hugh and Ned.”
Viktor bowed over the hand Amaranthe extended. Mal was glad she was wearing the kid glove and Viktor didn’t get to touch her skin. “I would have been a much better student if my tutors had a sister so pretty,” Viktor said.
“Yes, I imagine you would have suddenly been inspired to pay keen attention to your Latin conjugations and historical studies,” Amaranthe said with cool calm. “Whereas my brother relies on the authority of his knowledge to make his students behave. As Cicero says,si hortum et bibliotheca habes, nihil deerit.”
Mal smothered a laugh as Viktor mastered his look of dismay. He had no doubt Amaranthe intended to flourish her Latin as a weapon. Viktor recovered his customary aplomb. “I’ll agree with anything Cicero spouts if you support it, Miss Illingworth.”
Amaranthe cast an exasperated look at Mal, who suddenly felt buoyant. So she was not the type of woman to go soft over a man in uniform. Mal was glad to see it. He wasn’t certain the uniform would suit him, come to that, and the headgear bordered on the ridiculous.
“So Cicero is what intelligent young ladies use to drive away unwanted gentlemen,” Mal said after Viktor moved away to hail another friend. “I think you meant it. ‘He who possesses a garden and a library lacks nothing.’”
Her pleased, slightly abashed smile warmed him to a far greater extent than his coffee. “I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate in the moment,” she said. “But it’s my favorite of his sayings, nevertheless.”
“’Faithfulness and truth are the most sacred excellences and endowments of the human mind,’” Mal quoted. “One of my favorites.”
She turned her face away. “Quite.”
Now why had he taunted her thus? It was no way to find answers. “You like tea,” he said stupidly, trying to draw her attention back to himself.
“Brought to England by Catherine de Braganza, the wife of King Charles II, so they say,” she murmured, still not meeting his eyes.
“Who was Portuguese,” Mal said. “As, I believe you mentioned, was your mother’s family?”
“We always hoped to travel there,” Amaranthe answered. “My mother taught me a bit of the language, what bits had been handed down to her. I use it now and again with a girl we met, ayoung woman named Inez. Her father was an Indian sailor and her mother his Portuguese wife, left stranded in England when his employer went bankrupt and the crew was relieved of their duties. Inez is looking after my house while we are gone.”
“You seem inclined to take in people in distress,” Mal noted. “You mentioned you brought your maid from Cornwall with you.”
Her eyes met his, wide with surprise. “Why would you think Inez is in distress? Or Eyde?”
“You leapt in to help my brothers and sister on the basis of no prior acquaintance,” Mal said. “At the notion of hiring staff, you went immediately to a charitable institution that places orphans into service. And you mentioned you left Cornwall around six years ago, which I am guessing is the age of your maid’s daughter. Very few employers keep a servant who comes burdened with a child.”
