Free A Christmas Gambol by Joan Smith Page B

Parliament,” he said.
    “You’re a member of the House of Lords. Why do you not raise the question in the House yourself?”
    “I shall, by the living jingo. It’s intolerable. A man is not safe on the streets.”
    As they drew nigh to Berkeley Square he said sheepishly, “There is no need to mention this to Meg.”
    She gave him a long look. “As I shall have to borrow a reticule from her this evening, I fear I must mention it, to say nothing of her bonnet being lost. I shall be sure to tell her how you sent that first pair of bruisers running.”
    “Bruisers?” he exclaimed. “Why do you call them bruisers? They were not bruisers.”
    “I only meant great hulking brutes,” she replied, surprised at his outburst.
    He accepted that she was unaware that they were hired bruisers.
    It was not long, however, before she began to suspect the whole. Fairly’s blows had been mere taps, and those two big men had retreated with suspicious alacrity. He had arranged that first attack to make himself look brave. Was there no bottom to his vanity and stupidity?
    More excellent research for her novel, but Fairly was no longer a plausible hero. He would have to be only a suitor for the heroine’s hand, and some other character found to carry the burden of love interest.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Cicely and Fairly reached home an hour before Meg. Cicely spent the time jotting down notes on her adventure while Fairly put himself in the hands of his valet to repair the ravages of his afternoon. They had just returned to the saloon to enjoy a restorative cup of tea when Meg landed in, fire blazing in her eyes.
    “I should like to know why you took my new bonnet, Fairly,” she said. “What have you done with it, eh? Given it to a light-skirt? You shall buy me two bonnets, to make up for it. You don’t fool me with this excuse of showing Sissie the slums. You dumped her on your Aunt Sophronia while you went visiting one of your bits of muslin.”
    “Oh indeed, Meg, we were at Seven Dials,” Cicely said, “and were attacked by two sets of villains. We would not have come out alive had it not been for Fairly’s quick thinking and bravery in attacking them. Can you not see how red his nose is? It’s been pouring blood all afternoon.” She laid it on with a trowel to make Meg admire her husband.
    Meg was distracted by this tale of dangerous doings. “Attacked by villains! I wish I had gone with you. What happened?”
    “Two of them stole your bonnet and my reticule out of the carriage while Fairly was fighting off another pair. They travel in two pairs of two.”
    “Shocking!” she said, turning to her husband. “And you actually tackled them, Fairly?” she asked, hardly able to credit such an unlikely tale. Yet Fairly’s nose, now that Meg took a glance at it, stood out in brilliant relief against his white face.
    “With a club,” he said, peering soulfully at Meg.
    She rushed forward to comfort him. “Oh, my poor esposo. Are you serving him tea, Sissie? Call for brandy. We all need a glass of brandy.”
    Cicely duly noted that contraband brandy was readily available in noble homes—and drunk not only by the heroes but by their wives.
    “You should stay home tonight and help Fairly to recover,” Cicely suggested. “He looks very peaked, does he not?”
    “Stay at home?” Meg asked, and laughed. “Hardly! I shall take him to Lady Amelia’s ball and show him off.”
    “Fairly is in no condition to dance.”
    “Indeed no. We shall sit out all evening. I shall wear a black shawl, to show how serious your condition is, Fairly. And you, a black sling on your arm.”
    To Cicely’s amazement, Fairly entered into this foolishness with the greatest enthusiasm. She had no doubt that by the time they reached the ball, Fairly would be in a Bath chair and the four attackers (two of them hired, she was now convinced) would be a whole band, armed to the teeth.
    “Well, you were very fortunate that Fairly was there to