Raven's Ransom Read Online Free PDF Page A

short of a hothouse.

Three
    Lord Raven tossed on his pillows querulously. “Richmond, if you do not tell me what is going on below stairs, I shall turn you off without a character!”
    This threat held no terrors for the strong-minded valet, who’d spent most of his working life in Lord Raven’s ill-tempered—but thoroughly satisfactory—employ. It was a threat he heard a dozen times or more in a working day, but not one, he was perfectly certain, that ever would be dispatched. Lord Raven, despite his perverse temper, was too much the man of honor.
    Now he stepped over to the bedstead, wiped the crusty old face with a warm, wet sponge, and muttered, soothingly, that the earl would doubtless be well pleased with the shenanigans that was turning his well-ordered home into a state of chaos.
    “Well?” The earl’s bellow came out as a wheeze, but Richmond understood his intention perfectly. He stepped over to the highly polished ebony bed stand and with a flourish removed the Morning Post, which sat upon it crisply.
    “I fancy this must have something to do with the commotion below stairs.”
    “Ah.” The earl’s eyes were bright as he regarded the paper with interest. “So you have seen the insert?”
    “Indeed I have, sir! As have, no doubt, the whole of London society together with a great deal of seedier undesirables.”
    “They shall be weeded out.” The earl waved his hand dismissively. “Well, why are you dawdling in that reprehensible fashion? Let me see!”
    Richmond opened the paper with practiced ease and flicked over the pages until he came to the item that had at once attracted his critical eye. So useful that he, like Mrs. Bartlett, was the type of superior servant who could both read and write.
    “Ah.” The earl nodded in rare satisfaction. “Perfectly worded. I am surprised. That Anchorage person is a scoundrel.”
    “He is your lawyer, sir,” Richmond objected mildly.
    “Pshaw!” The earl made a rather dismissive gesture. Nevertheless, Richmond could tell he was pleased.
    “So what is happening? I wager a dozen young men are squirming out of the woodwork.”
    “Oh, easily that, my lord! Your announcement is the talk of the Ton. If I may say so, sir, you are a wicked old man. ”
    This pleased the earl tremendously, for he offered Richmond a sweetmeat before demanding to speak to Primrose.
    “I fear you cannot, my lord! She was abducted by a knave.”
    “What?” The earl turned purple and sat up with sudden vigor.
    “Indeed. You are not to concern yourself, sir, for by all accounts she and Miss Daisy have been rescued.”
    “Ah.” The earl’s unscrupulous eyes twinkled. “By a gentleman, I presume?”
    “Oh, no, my lord! By a cutpurse.”
    The face darkened once more. Richmond’s tone was bland as he dusted some flecks of fluff off his lord’s heavy brocade.
    “You are gammoning me!”
    “Indeed, no! Mrs. Bartlett had it off Miss Daisy herself. Evidently the man has some credentials to his credit . . .”
    “These being?”
    “He kisses rather expertly . . .”
    “Richmond!” This time the earl’s wheeze was replaced by a roar. The valet blinked.
    “My lord?”
    “Send for Mrs. Bartlett! There is no dealing with you!”
    “Very well, my lord.” Richmond bowed and departed the room in haste. He knew, with the certainty of long service, that he was in danger of having a potted plant hurled at his head. He permitted himself a faint grin. The earl’s quirk of madness might be the very thing to raise his spirits and set him on his feet again.
     
     
    The “cutpurse” had little difficulty finding a private parlor for the two ladies, who despite their very best efforts to skip alongside the horses, still found themselves drenched to the skin, their merry bonnets in ruins, and their fashionable half boots all but soaked. Still, they maintained the best of spirits, especially when confronted with a hearty meal of sauteed chicken livers, roast dumplings with apple sauce,