Boudreaux’s Lady

by Smith, Lauren

  Lord Lennox’s bright blue eyes searched her face. “Pippa, what happened? Why was Lord Monmouth hurting you?”

  Lord Lennox’s wife, Rosalind, appeared in the doorway with Mr. Beaton right behind her. “Ash? What happened?” The dark-haired lady of the house rushed to Ashton’s side and gasped when she saw Philippa’s condition.

  “Dear Lord! Pippa, are you all right?”

  Philippa wanted to die of shame. She’d caused an uproar in her master’s house and would surely be cast out without a reference. She rubbed at her throat.

  “Give her a minute, Rosalind. Lord Monmouth nearly killed the poor girl.” Ashton gently raised her chin with his fingers and examined her neck. His lips pursed and he addressed Mr. Beaton. “Beaton, fetch the doctor. Her injuries could be serious.”

  She rubbed her throat. Tears burned her eyes as she tried to speak. “I swear, my lord… I did nothing… Lord Monmouth… said I can’t be here.” Did he think she shouldn’t have been standing so visibly when most servants were trained to remain out of sight? But no one flew into a violent rage over that. Yet what else could he have meant?

  Rosalind knelt beside her husband and patted Philippa’s knee. “It’s all right.”

  “My lady, I’m terribly sorry…” Philippa blinked away tears as they dropped down onto her cheeks.

  “Do not apologize,” Ashton said in a gentle but firm tone. “I don’t allow guests to come into my home and attack my staff. Lord Monmouth is solely to blame for this.”

  “What did he say to you?” Rosalind asked. “What were his exact words?”

  Philippa briefly closed her eyes to replay the awful moment.

  “He said… No… You can’t be here. Not possible…I fear it’s all a bit muddled now.”

  Rosalind tilted her head. “Such an odd thing to say. You don’t know Lord Monmouth, do you?”

  Philippa shook her head, but winced as fresh pain jolted the tender muscles of her neck and throat.

  “Just rest for now,” Lord Lennox said. “The doctor will be here soon.” He stepped outside while Rosalind helped Philippa remove the white cap from her hair and unbutton the top buttons on her gown to help the doctor have access to her neck.

  “Please don’t send me away, my lady,” Philippa croaked.

  Rosalind raised a brow, and with her next words, her Scottish accent was thick with worry. “Hush now. Don’t speak such nonsense. You are a valued member of this household and I don’t care what reason or excuse Lord Monmouth gives, he cannot lay a hand on anyone like that. It is his fault, not yours.”

  Philippa wanted to hug Rosalind, but there were invisible lines between a maid and her mistress.

  “Does it hurt much?” Rosalind asked.

  “Yes,” Philippa whispered. “I believe he wanted to kill me, but I have no idea why.”

  “Ash will find out. He won’t let Monmouth get away without answering for this, his title be damned.”

  Lord Lennox cleared his throat in the doorway. “Dr. Montgomery is here, Pippa.”

  A young doctor who couldn’t have been more than thirty entered the room. The man smiled warmly at Philippa and his handsome face brightened as he took her in. Philippa blushed in mortification. She knew the effect she often had on men. It had been one of the hardest things about finding employment in a decent house. Many ladies in London would not hire a girl who was too pretty, let alone one with “beauty unparalleled” as one matron had said to her. She remembered how the woman had reached for the small brass bell on the table beside her and rang it.

  “It’s nothing personal my dear, but I can’t have my nephew see you. He’s all set to marry an earl’s daughter. One look at you could destroy my carefully laid plans.”

  That hadn’t been the first or last house that had turned her down for employment. For similar reasons, she didn’t dare apply for positions at bachelors’ residences, where there would be no protection from the advances of an employer. She’d been fortunate to find a home like Lennox House where her master was so clearly in love with his wife that he had no interest in other ladies.

  “Would you like me to stay with you, Pippa?” Rosalind asked as the doctor sat on the settee beside her.

  “Yes, please.” She was grateful for Rosalind’s presence. Not that she didn’t trust the doctor, she simply felt more secure not being alone. The doctor examined her throat. His hands were warm as he pressed various places on her neck and asked where it hurt. She nodded each time a spark of pain flared up.

  “Well, it seems you have some damage to your throat. It will be sore for a while, I imagine.” He looked at her face. “Your eyes will be red for a few days; strangulation has that unfortunate effect. You may have trouble swallowing or speaking for long periods of time. Drink lots of warm broth and hot tea. Nothing bitter. Sweeten your tea with honey.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” She reached up to button her gown.

  The doctor gave a gentle smile. “If you have need of my services, Miss Wilson, you have but to send for me.” His earnest look created a twinge of guilt inside her. He was neither the first nor the last man to make such an offer, but unlike with many men, she sensed that he meant it kindly and was genuinely interested in her.

  I could marry a man like him if I wanted. But she wanted more in life than to be a man’s wife. Not a rich husband or a fine house, no. She wanted passion and adventure—two things women in any social class could never have. Why couldn’t women have more in life to look forward to?

  “Thank you, doctor. Mr. Beaton will see you out.” Rosalind saw him to the door and returned to Philippa, concern still filling in her eyes. “Why don’t we get you some tea and send you to bed early?”

  “I’m so sorry, my lady. I’m still able to work, I promise you,” she rasped as she rose from the settee and followed her mistress into the hall.

  “You need not worry about that for now.” Rosalind patted her arm gently.

  Ruth was waiting for her outside the drawing room. She curtsied to her mistress.

  “Ah, Ruth,” said Rosalind. “Have some tea with honey taken up to your and Pippa’s room. She’s to drink the tea and go to bed early. Any work either of you have left undone this evening can be finished tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” Ruth slipped her arm through Pippa’s and they headed for the servants’ quarters one floor above.

  The room Philippa and Ruth shared was small and cozy, with two slender beds on opposing walls. Bright red wool blankets covered their feather tick mattresses. Ruth had a knack for knitting and embroidery which left the room feeling warmer and more welcoming than an average servant’s chamber.

  Philippa’s side of the room had articles from the Morning Post tacked to the walls detailing various adventures from America or Europe. Lord Lennox always allowed the staff to read the paper each night after he was done with it, and Mr. Beaton had given Philippa permission to cut out the articles she liked out and take them to her chamber. They made for a canvas of excitement she liked to re-read each night.

  “I cannot believe that man attacked you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help! You’re truly all right?”

  Philippa unbuttoned her dress and changed her nightgown with her friends help. “I simply don’t understand why he did it. I was only standing there.”

  “Gentlemen are queer creatures and dangerous at times. At least his lordship was there to save you.”

  “Indeed.” Philippa didn’t want to think about what would have happened if Lord Lennox hadn’t come into the hall. She might be dead, strangled by a man she’d never met before for no apparent reason.

  “Rest now. I’ll bring tea up in a bit,” Ruth said, her face still strained with worry.

  “Thank you.” Philippa felt quite useless in that moment, a burden upon those around her. She climbed into her bed and pulled her wool blankets over her body.

  When Ruth left, she dug out a small pouch out from under her mattress. It held a slender necklace with a sapphire pendant. It had b
een a gift from her mother when she turned sixteen. She had no idea how her parents had been able to afford it. She brushed the pad of her thumb over the sapphire before returning it to the velvet pouch and slipping it back under her mattress.

  Tears soaked her pillow as she buried herself in her blankets and tried to shut out the world around her, even if only for just a few hours.

  * * *

  Cornelius Selkirk, the Earl of Monmouth, hid in the mews two townhouses away from Lennox’s home. His heart was still racing and blood was still roaring in his ears. Tonight had turned into a disaster. All he’d wanted was to meet with Lennox about some investments. Instead, he’d walked in and seen his doom looking down at him from the top of the stairs.

  That doom came in the form of a twenty-year-old girl in a black servant’s gown. Though her hair had been covered, there had been no mistaking her. She was Albina reborn. He knew the girl was somewhere in England because he’d allowed the child to live, after all, but he’d paid for the miller and his wife’s silence and their move away from his country estate. He’d imagined them in some backwater town continuing their trade, not in London. So, what was the chit doing in London where anyone could see her and realize she looked exactly like Albina? The mere sight of her had almost killed him where he stood. He thought for a moment he was seeing a ghost.

  If someone who remembered his late wife saw the girl there would be no question that she was a Selkirk. His boy Roddy would then be challenged as his heir and Cornelius couldn’t afford that. If he hadn’t acted so foolishly tonight it was possible she might have gone unnoticed, but now he’d drawn attention to her and it put all he’d worked toward at risk.

  He would not let some distant cousin inherit his estate, not after all he’d sacrificed to build it. Remarriage had been out of the question. The doctor had said his blood flow was not strong enough to become aroused and he would likely never have intercourse again. That mattered little to him. His desire for bedding women had died years ago. Yet he hadn’t been concerned. He had Roddy. But seeing the girl tonight…all of his old fears came rushing back. He’d acted mad and realized how reckless it’d been to try to kill the girl inside Lennox’s house. Lennox wouldn’t let this matter be buried and that meant he would do everything possible to discover what made the girl so special.

  Now she would have to die. There was no way around it. She was a liability he couldn’t afford. There was too much at risk.

  Cornelius relaxed when he realized no one was pursuing him. He emerged from the mew and walked to the nearest corner on Half-Moon Street to hail a passing hackney.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  “The Clubhouse on Bennett Street.” He settled back inside the coach. The question was how to remove the girl without raising suspicions further. There was one man who could be counted upon to help him, and on a night like this, the Clubhouse was where he would usually find him.

  When the coach stopped on Bennett Street, Cornelius paid the driver and walked up to the conspicuous red door that marked the entrance to the gambling hell. He entered the townhouse where raucous laughter and shouts of excitement echoed throughout. Footmen bustled about the corridor and up the stairs, carrying drinks, messages and money between clients. Cornelius caught the arm of a passing servant.

  “Is Lord Sommers here tonight?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s playing the hazard tables upstairs. First door on the right.” The footmen rushed off and Cornelius headed upstairs.

  Alistair Sommers sat at a hazard table with a buxom woman behind him whispering things in his ear that made the young buck smile. Alistair was only twenty-nine, but the viscount had a reputation that made more seasoned rakes shrink away from him.

  Men like Sommers never went to balls. If they did, they never thought twice about compromising any woman they walked past. But Alistair was far more of a threat than simply ruining the reputations of young women at balls. He belonged to a hellfire club called the Devil’s Own where men there did not simply play at sinful acts, they committed them. Men died under mysterious circumstances thanks to them, but the Bow Street runners were baffled as to how to tie any of the crimes to the club’s members.

  “Lord Sommers,” Cornelius said. He sat down at a vacant seat after an inebriated young man lost a large sum of money at the table and left.

  “Ahh, Monmouth. I’m surprised to see you here,” Alistair didn’t even bother looking at Cornelius. He was focused on the game.

  “I have something that might interest you. For the right price, I hope.”

  “You know I don’t pay for pleasure.” Alistair sounded bored.

  Cornelius tried not to let his temper be riled. “You misunderstand, Lord Sommers. It is I who would pay you. I require a little matter to be dealt with.”

  Alastair glanced away from the game, curious now. “Oh? Nothing trivial, I assume.”

  “I think you will be most interested, but I cannot speak of it here.”

  “Very well. This game has lost its fire for me.” He collected his winnings and brushed the woman away as he stood.

  “There’s a private room at the end of the corridor,” Alistair said. Cornelius followed him to a bedchamber.

  “Now then, what’s the matter?” Alistair asked.

  Cornelius smiled. “A woman. I need her removed. You may do whatever you like with her, but she needs to be disposed of afterwards.”

  Alastair crossed his arms over his chest. “What woman, and why?”

  “She is a threat to my estate, someone who would ruin my son’s inheritance. That’s all I shall say on the matter.”

  “Hardly seems like a challenge. What about this woman would tempt me?”

  “She’s not any woman. She has the face and body of Helen of Troy with lustrous black hair. You know of my deceased wife’s beauty”

  Alistair was far more interested now. “Men still speak of her in reverent whispers even though she’s been dead for twenty years.”

  “This woman is her exact image.” Cornelius felt strangely smug about the girl’s beauty even though he was, at that moment, plotting her murder.

  Alistair’s eyebrow raised. “Any relation?”

  “Are you interested?”

  “If she’s as beautiful as you say, then yes. But why do you wish her dead? Why not have her taken and hidden away somewhere instead? A beautiful woman is a prized asset to most men.”

  “Unfortunately, her very beauty is what condemns her. Even to hide her away might not be enough.”

  Alistair’s brown eyes glinted with malicious understanding. “Then I am even more interested. Where is she?”

  “She’s working at Lord Lennox’s home as upstairs maid.”

  “A maid? And yet she is a threat?”

  “I will not explain further. It is simply something that must be done.”

  “Lennox’s household is tightly knit and loyal. It will be impossible to bribe my way inside to grab the girl.” Alistair stroked his chin and began to pace. “But maids do run errands. Assuming it does not have to be tonight, I will wait for her to leave the house and take her then.”

  “Excellent.” Cornelius relaxed. “Once you have her, send word to me and I will send you one thousand pounds. Half when she is in your possession, the rest when she is dead.”

  “That’s not much for murder,” Alastair mused.

  “After you see her, you will wish to pay me for the time you have with her.”

  Alastair chuckled. “No woman is that lovely. But we have an accord.”

  “Good.” Cornelius exited the room and left the gambling hell. The fewer people who saw him there, the better. In fact, he intended to go straight home and take Roddy with him to the country to keep suspicion off them both in case Lord Sommers was caught with the girl’s body.

  There was a brief moment where he felt a stab of guilt at sentencing his own daughter to death, but when everything was factored in and accounted for, she, like her mother, only stood in the way of what truly m
attered.

  Chapter 3

  Philippa felt like a prisoner for the next two days. Her voice had recovered, but the bruises around her throat were still visible. The ugly purple marks formed two dark rings around her neck. Lady Lennox had not wanted her to resume her duties until she felt capable, but after three days of laying quiet in her bed, Philippa needed to be doing something. So, despite Ruth’s protests, she’d dressed in her black uniform, bound her hair with her maid’s cap, and assisted her friend in cleaning the upstairs rooms.

  By early evening she felt more like her old self and was sitting in the kitchens with one of the footmen, Roger, as he polished pair of Lord Lennox’s Hessian boots. Their lordship’s valet had the night off.

  “His lordship finally felt it was safe to leave the house,” Roger said as he dipped a cloth into the pot of black shoe polish.

  “What?” Philippa’s hands paused in the midst of folding a linen napkin. “He was afraid of leaving?”

  “Afraid of leaving you. Lennox is worried that Lord Monmouth might return. The man has vanished, it seems. Presumably out of guilt, but one wonders. He and Lady Lennox didn’t leave the house for the last two days. Lennox wanted to be here should Monmouth return for you.”

  “That hardly seems likely, does it?” Attacking her unprovoked was one thing, but to continue to pursue her afterwards?

  Roger was quiet a moment. “You weren’t here, but five years ago the household underwent a similar danger.” His brow furrowed.

  She knew of what Roger spoke but had never dared before to ask for any details. “What happened?”

  “A man named Hugo Waverley waged a private war against his lordship and his friends. One that almost cost them all their lives. Those were dark and dangerous days. There was even an assassin in our midst. A killer was working in this very house alongside us.”

  “Good lord!” Philippa gasped.

  Roger pursed his lips and buffed hard on a large scratch on one of the tall black boots, but his face held a distracted look. “The man had been hired by Waverly to kill Lord Lennox.”