Romancing a Wallflower

the strain of whatever burdens dog you, if you were to find the right lady. Someone who would listen to your thoughts and concerns.”
Harlow opened his mouth to respond but stopped. He knew many others who complained of the nightmares after the wars with France. Perhaps Max could be right… No! Whatever was he thinking? Lilian had her own nightmare. He would not add to her troubles. He would find whoever was responsible for this outrage and have them cancel the entry. In the meantime, he hoped people would ignore it.
“I know what you are thinking.” Max grinned and held up his hand, signalling the waiter to bring them another round of drinks. “No one will miss that. And the page is only half-filled. They will see it for a long time.”
A waiter returned and quietly refreshed their drinks.
“I know.” Harlow caught the defeated tone in his own voice and decided he would not allow himself to fall in a dudgeon over this. He also realized, with alarming clarity, that he could not just abandon Lady Lilian, not given the attention he had already paid her. That would be wrong. “You say you have known people to recover from these nightmares?” He wanted to hear about that.
“I have.” Max pushed the refreshed drink in Harlow’s direction. “I think, however, it would be better to discuss that somewhere less…public. Since you cracked the legs of that chair, our fellow members, who are studiously avoiding looking this way, are nevertheless cocking their ears avidly in our direction.”
“Let me tell you what I know,” Harlow offered. He bent his head down and talked in a low voice. “First, I want to tell you about the carriage that almost ran me over, two days ago, on its way to the Golden Goose Public House.”
“On Duke Street?” Max sat upright. “Michael ‘Bowie’ Moore owns it. Not an unfamiliar name, I am finding, to the smuggling world.”
“I think that was its destination. The horses careened around the corner, and as I passed, I spotted the same horses, with their heads tossing back and forth in irritation, frothing from the pace of it all. They were just visible at the rear of the alehouse.”
“Bowie was a name given to me by a contact in London, last week. I think it bears further investigation. He may have the name, but they know him as a reputable businessman in London, at least on one side of the aisle. We need to be sure before we connect him to anything. Maybe there are others associated with him. I will get someone to look into that.”
“The whole episode was odd. I was on my way to meet…” he paused, realizing what he was about to say. “…Lady Lilian,” he finished slowly. He waited for the ribald response. It did not come.
“This could be a sign, my friend,” Max said mildly, slapping him on the back.
“You cannot let the hound lie sleeping, can you?” Harlow countered with good-humoured relief.
“No, I fear not. I cannot say I am sorry for it, though.” Max coughed into his fist, signalling they were no longer alone. A man with shoulder-length hair and an ill-fitting blackcoat, tattered at the sleeves had appeared from the side of the building and seemed to be watching them.
“Do you care to indulge me in a round at Gentleman Jackson’s? I feel the need for some exercise before we return to Tintagel.” Harlow stood up and grabbed his cane. He did not always carry it with him, unless he was doing the pretty in Town, as Max would term it. Half the time he spent trying to remember where he had left it. His mother had given him the wooden cane with a dog on the handle. Since it reminded him of his childhood pet, he hoped he could keep it. The sight of the dog brought forth another detail he needed to tell Max. “There is one other thing that I found odd that same day. Viscount Yarstone spotted Lady Catherine Poinz watching us picnic in Richmond Park the other day.”
“You took a picnic in Richmond Park?” Max widened his eyes. “Mayhap I need to know more about Lady Lilian. To return to your point, though: that is odd. I came across the widow at the milliner’s yesterday. I was picking up a new hat, and she was walking out of the milliner’s next door with a footman behind her carrying several boxes. She stopped and asked if I was planning to be in London very long. Most odd.”
“What did you say to her?” Harlow asked.
“You know me better than that. I smiled and complimented her atrocious purple and black plumed hat, tipped my own hat and went inside. I heard the busy-body clear her throat in a disapproving way—you know—as she continued past me.”
“’Tis odd that she keeps popping up,” Harlow said absently. “L.C.P…Lady Catherine Poinz!”
“Curious. She saw you in the park with Lady Lilian, you said?” Max looked thoughtful. “How could she do that? Who would post a bet using her initials? I know, you will say, M.M.—but White’s is the stiffest of all the gentlemen’s clubs.”
“It makes sense, nevertheless. This bears watching. I will find out who M.M. is. Perhaps, all I have to do is discover who is having a dalliance with Lady Poinz.”
“Maybe.” Max rubbed his chin. “We will not solve this now. What say you we head to Gentleman Jackson’s? I too feel the need for exercise now.”
“Agreed.”
“My carriage is around the corner. Simmons can set us down and pick us up in two hours,” Harlow offered.
“That sounds like a good idea. The weather is warm, after all. I doubt we will want to be seen on the toddle after the match.” Max sniggered.
“True enough.” The two men walked outside and met Simmons, who stood ready at the coach. “Simmons, take us to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon,” Harlow directed. He needed the release of strenuous exercise. A bout of fisticuffs was a good idea. He just