Read Online The Mandarin of Mayfair by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Veryan
Tags: georgian romance
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targetted."
Chandler said, "Tall orders, and we're spread dashed thin now, Ross, keeping an eye on the movements of the rogues we know are League members."
Cranford suggested eagerly, "Why not hire more men to follow them? Tummet's rascals seem to have done well thus far."
Rossiter pursed his lips dubiously. "Not in all instances, Perry. Some of the reports brought back by our makeshift spies have turned out to be no more than Canterbury tales invented to account for hours they'd actually spent in the nearest tavern."
"Besides, they cannot always follow where our aristocratic League members go," said Chandler. "They know we're watching, and they're extremely adept at vanishing while attending some crowded social event."
Falcon said thoughtfully, "If we could but discover where they rendezvous."
"We've tried, Lord knows," said Glendenning. "Almost certainly they meet at one of their homes, or country seats."
Rossiter nodded. "They probably begin the evening at some party, as Gordie said, then slip away to their meetings. The pity is that we've never caught 'em at it."
"I seem to recall that there is to be a winter fete at Overlake Park," murmured Falcon. "On the sixteenth, I believe. When is that?"
"Saturday, you caper-wit," said Rossiter. "What of it?"
"I believe I shall attend."
Except for Morris, who was snoring softly, they all stared at him.
Sir Owen broke the stunned silence to ask incredulously, "You've been invited?"
Falcon's chin tossed upward. He said with quelling hauteur, "Astounding as it may seem to you, Furlong, I am considered socially acceptable by many
ton
hostesses."
Sir Owen flushed. "I—I never meant—"
"He knows what you meant," said Rossiter. "Are you forgetting, August, that Rudi Bracksby owns Overlake Park?"
"Oh, no," said Falcon.
Awed, Cranford observed, "You're mad!"
"Use some sense, man," urged Rossiter. "We know Bracksby is a member of the League. He may very well be one of the six founders."
"And since he's damned sure you're one of us," said Gordon Chandler, "I share Owen's astonishment that you were invited."
Falcon confessed, "Well, I wasn't. Not specifically that is. Actually, I have a sort of—standing invitation." His lips quirked. "Though that is perhaps an—ah, inappropriate adjective." Over the hoots and laughter he went on, "Dear Rudi's widowed sister, Lady Dunscroft, has a
tendre
for me." He grinned in response to another derisive chorus, and added, "And I am very sure her ladyship has not the remotest knowledge of the League of Jewelled Men."
"Perhaps not, but Pamela Dunscroft is a tigress!" said Glendenning, half amused, half dismayed.
Not in the least amused, Rossiter said, "No! You'd be walking into the lion's den, you fool."
"Life in the jungle…" Falcon's eyes glittered with anticipation. "It should be interesting."
The male sex is ridiculous!" declared Gwendolyn unequivocally, closing the morning-room door behind her. "Absolutely! I do not know why we—" She checked, then stepped over Apollo and hurried to her friend. "Dearest! Why are you weeping?"
Katrina Falcon stood at the window. She had jerked her head away when Gwendolyn came in, and was dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. "I—am not." Managing a tremulous smile, she sniffed and added, "Well, not very much."
"One weeps, or one does not weep." Gwendolyn took her hand, led her to the sofa, and sat beside her. "Are you anxious for your papa? August said Mr. Falcon is quite recovered of his fall."
"Yes. But—oh, who knows what may happen next? This horrid League, and—and all the violence in the streets, and—" The rush of words ceased. Katrina faltered, "How glad I am that your papa allows you to stay with me, Gwen. Of late, I am always… so afraid."
"I know." Gwendolyn pressed the cold hand she held. "But your fear is not of the League, I think. We have known about their wickedness for months, and I have never before seen you give way to tears."
Katrina withdrew her hand, and blew
Chandler said, "Tall orders, and we're spread dashed thin now, Ross, keeping an eye on the movements of the rogues we know are League members."
Cranford suggested eagerly, "Why not hire more men to follow them? Tummet's rascals seem to have done well thus far."
Rossiter pursed his lips dubiously. "Not in all instances, Perry. Some of the reports brought back by our makeshift spies have turned out to be no more than Canterbury tales invented to account for hours they'd actually spent in the nearest tavern."
"Besides, they cannot always follow where our aristocratic League members go," said Chandler. "They know we're watching, and they're extremely adept at vanishing while attending some crowded social event."
Falcon said thoughtfully, "If we could but discover where they rendezvous."
"We've tried, Lord knows," said Glendenning. "Almost certainly they meet at one of their homes, or country seats."
Rossiter nodded. "They probably begin the evening at some party, as Gordie said, then slip away to their meetings. The pity is that we've never caught 'em at it."
"I seem to recall that there is to be a winter fete at Overlake Park," murmured Falcon. "On the sixteenth, I believe. When is that?"
"Saturday, you caper-wit," said Rossiter. "What of it?"
"I believe I shall attend."
Except for Morris, who was snoring softly, they all stared at him.
Sir Owen broke the stunned silence to ask incredulously, "You've been invited?"
Falcon's chin tossed upward. He said with quelling hauteur, "Astounding as it may seem to you, Furlong, I am considered socially acceptable by many
ton
hostesses."
Sir Owen flushed. "I—I never meant—"
"He knows what you meant," said Rossiter. "Are you forgetting, August, that Rudi Bracksby owns Overlake Park?"
"Oh, no," said Falcon.
Awed, Cranford observed, "You're mad!"
"Use some sense, man," urged Rossiter. "We know Bracksby is a member of the League. He may very well be one of the six founders."
"And since he's damned sure you're one of us," said Gordon Chandler, "I share Owen's astonishment that you were invited."
Falcon confessed, "Well, I wasn't. Not specifically that is. Actually, I have a sort of—standing invitation." His lips quirked. "Though that is perhaps an—ah, inappropriate adjective." Over the hoots and laughter he went on, "Dear Rudi's widowed sister, Lady Dunscroft, has a
tendre
for me." He grinned in response to another derisive chorus, and added, "And I am very sure her ladyship has not the remotest knowledge of the League of Jewelled Men."
"Perhaps not, but Pamela Dunscroft is a tigress!" said Glendenning, half amused, half dismayed.
Not in the least amused, Rossiter said, "No! You'd be walking into the lion's den, you fool."
"Life in the jungle…" Falcon's eyes glittered with anticipation. "It should be interesting."
The male sex is ridiculous!" declared Gwendolyn unequivocally, closing the morning-room door behind her. "Absolutely! I do not know why we—" She checked, then stepped over Apollo and hurried to her friend. "Dearest! Why are you weeping?"
Katrina Falcon stood at the window. She had jerked her head away when Gwendolyn came in, and was dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. "I—am not." Managing a tremulous smile, she sniffed and added, "Well, not very much."
"One weeps, or one does not weep." Gwendolyn took her hand, led her to the sofa, and sat beside her. "Are you anxious for your papa? August said Mr. Falcon is quite recovered of his fall."
"Yes. But—oh, who knows what may happen next? This horrid League, and—and all the violence in the streets, and—" The rush of words ceased. Katrina faltered, "How glad I am that your papa allows you to stay with me, Gwen. Of late, I am always… so afraid."
"I know." Gwendolyn pressed the cold hand she held. "But your fear is not of the League, I think. We have known about their wickedness for months, and I have never before seen you give way to tears."
Katrina withdrew her hand, and blew
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