Mother religiously chastised him at least twice every time she saw him on his reluctance to select a bride and begin to fill his nursery. Reminding her that he had no title to which he owed an obligation since his uncle had three sons, made no impression on her. When things got really desperate, she would drag out her handkerchief and wail about grandchildren.
That was when he reminded her that his sister, Lady Berkshire, was well on her way to producing a babe, said babe also being his mother’s grandchild. Plus, Addie’s husband had come to the marriage with a little boy, Michael, who Mother had fallen in love with and called my grandson. At that reminder, her tears dried up quickly and were replaced with annoyance.
“Mallory. I thought you would be haunting the halls of Parliament trying to wrangle votes for your bill.” Lord Harding, a viscount and active in the House of Lords smiled down at him and took the seat opposite.
A footman appeared with another glass and Harding filled it from the brandy bottle on the table. “Here’s to your success with your bill, although I doubt it will pass this time, either.”
He raised his glass and took a deep swallow. “Will you be gracing Society with your presence tonight at the Atkinsons’ ball? Rumor has it that the man will be announcing the youngest daughter’s betrothal.” Harding said.
Marcus shook his head. “Who’s the poor sap she snared?”
Harding leaned back and propped his ankle on his knee. “Actually, it appears this one is a love match.”
Marcus snorted and downed the brandy in his glass. “No such thing.”
“What about your sister?” Harding grinned. “Wasn’t hers a love match?”
He shrugged. “Who knows. Theirs was a strange beginning and I think at one point she left him because he tried to sell her store out from under her.”
“Ah, not well done, but from when I’ve heard, they are besotted lovebirds and awaiting an addition to the family.”
“Yes.” Marcus stood. The subject of love and marriage made him itchy. “As much as I would love to sit here and wax eloquently about all things romantic, I am off to prepare for the Atkinsons’ ball. I assume you are attending?”
“Yes. In fact, there is a young lady who has caught my eye.”
Marcus’s brows rose. “Do I hear the sound of wedding bells, old friend?”
Harding swirled the liquid in his glass and grinned. “Perhaps.”
Marcus slapped him on the back. “Good luck.” He strode the distance to the door, accepted his coat, hat, and gloves from the man at the door and left the club.
Marcus had developed the reputation of a well-liked and sought-after rake among the ton, vocally uninterested in marriage. He liked it that way. There were plenty of lonely widows to keep his bed warm. Despite his reputation, he did not bed young innocents or unhappily wedded women. As strange as it sounded, he firmly believed in the sanctity of marriage, which was why he eschewed the married state for himself.
Even though the marriage-minded mamas continued to cajole, and even attempt, to trap him, he remained cheerful and well out of their grasp. Recently, however, he’d begun to wonder if his insistence on a lack of desire for a wife was genuine, or merely habit.
Or worse yet, an annoyance to his mother, which sounded quite childish.
He’d ended his arrangement with his latest mistress and found he was not motivated enough to replace her. Perhaps it was time to put this frustrating nonsense with Parliamentary bills and society events aside and visit his sister in Bath and annoy her while she awaited the birth of her child.
He loved his sister, Addie, and was very happy that she’d found someone she loved and who loved her back. However, she was due for a bit of annoyance from her older brother. He grinned at the plan.
* * *
Marcus casually leaned against the wall in the Atkinsons’ ballroom and surveyed the crowd. Same people, same gossip, same ratafia to drink. Same unhappy wives, minus their unhappy husbands, clinging to men only too pleased to visit them in their beds while their husbands visited other unhappy women’s boudoirs.
“Why so sour?” James Wilson, an old friend and fellow schoolmate walked up to him, obviously already in his cups.
Even though it was probably not a good idea to attempt a conversation with the man in his present condition, Wilson had hit him at the right time. “Don’t you ever get tired of it all?” He waved his hand around to encompass the ballroom, some of the liquid in his glass splashing onto the floor.
Wilson’s puzzled expression cleared when he finally realized what Marcus asked. “Which part if it? The ladies looking for bedmates, the card games in the next room where one can increase his blunt? Or the sweet little just-out-of-the-schoolroom misses whose mamas pass someone like me by as not good enough for their precious daughters?” He grinned and snatched a glass of champagne from a passing footman’s tray. “Never.”
Wilson leaned in, his breath reeking from whatever combination of spirits and food he’d consumed. “This is our life, man. I’m just grateful that the pater didn’t piddle away his money so I could live the life of a gentleman.”
If Marcus needed an excuse to leave the ball, Wilson just handed it to him. “I see Harding across the room. I need to speak with him. Excuse me.” Marcus walked off in the general direction of Lord Harding, then took an abrupt turn and left the room.
He tried very hard on the way home to forget what Wilson said. This is our life, man. I’m just grateful that the pater didn’t piddle away his money so I could live the life of a gentleman.
Even though Marcus’s father was a man of substance, he’d always insisted that Marcus contribute to the family businesses. He and his father put in full days managing the various enterprises under their control. In addition to that, Marcus sat in the House of Commons and worked diligently on his bill. He was hardly living the life of a gentleman despite his reputation of devilish rake. That, he supposed, came from the number of women he’d romanced over the years.
The extremely frightening thought grabbed hold of his mind. Was Mother correct? Was it really time for him to settle down? Choose a wife? Certainly not from the gaggle of giggling, flighty schoolgirls who arrived in the ton each year. The few times he partnered one of them his ears grew numb from all the chatter. And never about anything worthwhile.
But then the ones who had passed a few years without an offer were not those he would choose to spend his life with, either. For the most part demanding, petulant, and pretentious. Somewhat like unfortunate Lord Mulgrave’s wife, sister to Addie’s friend, Lady Pamela. He’d seen the couple out and about a few times and the encounters always left Marcus shaking his head. That woman would drive any man to his liquor bottle.
Yes, he’d become somewhat jaded of late. Despite his hard work, the bill he’d fought so hard for would die a peaceful death in the House of Commons. It was time to wrap up whatever business he could and visit his sister. Get the devil out of London.
Chapter 2
Lizbeth looked around the cozy room Mrs. O’Leary had given her and smiled with contentment. This was the first nice thing to happen to her in a few years. The room had a warm feel to it, with pale rose and green walls and bed covers. There was even a soft carpet beneath her feet.
She finally had everything moved in and would meet the other boarders at dinner that night. Mrs. O’Leary told her she could rest from her move and didn’t have to help with dinner until tomorrow. Lizbeth took the gifted free time to drag out her latest painting and analyze what was wrong with it, since she knew it felt off-balance, but didn’t know why.
A slight tap on her door drew her attention away from the canvas. “Yes?”
The door opened a bit and a pretty blonde woman stuck her head in. “H-hello. Are y-you the n-new resident?”
Lizbeth stood and smiled. “Yes. I am. Won’t you come in?”
The woman entered the room and leaned against the closed door. “I am Lady P-pamela M-manning. You c-can probably g-guess I h-have a problem with s-speech.” She
blushed slightly, and Lizbeth immediately took to her visitor. She had a feeling they could be friends. Something she hadn’t had in a while.
“It is quite nice to meet you. I am Miss Lizbeth Davenport. And your stutter doesn’t trouble me.” She waved to the only chair in the room as she made her way to the bed. “Won’t you sit for a minute? It’s nice to have a visitor.”
“I h-hope you stay l-longer than the l-l-last few residents,” Lady Pamela said as she settled back in the chair. “Just as I g-got to know Miss S-spencer—the last occupant of this r-room—she up and m-moved.”
Lizbeth climbed onto the bed, tucking her legs underneath her bottom. “Is there a lot of coming and going here? It seems like a really nice boarding house.”
“It is a l-lovely place t-to live. I’ve b-been here for th-the past th-three years. Y-you will m-meet the other l-ladies at d-dinner. It’s just th-that this room s-seems to have a l-lot of coming and going.”
“I hope to change that. It would be wonderful if I could stay here after I get a job.” She stopped for a moment, and feeling an infinity with this young woman, she added, “I guess I should tell you that I was fired from my job for stealing.”
Lady Pamela’s brows rose but she didn’t say anything.
“I will also add that it was a mistake. I worked there for three years and had no problem.” She shook her head, again puzzled at how the entire debacle came to be. “I would never steal anything.”
“T-that’s strange. Wh-what happened?”
Lizbeth told her the entire story, along with how Mrs. O’Leary came to her rescue by offering her the room for free until she could secure new employment.
“That was v-very nice of h-her. She has d-done that b-before.”
“I think the woman is a saint. I have no idea what I would have done if I hadn’t met her.”
They chatted for about a half hour. Lady Pamela insisted she drop the title and just call her Pamela. Eventually, the bell to summon the residents to dinner sounded and Lizbeth and her new friend descended the stairs together to the dining room.
Once they settled around the table, Mrs. O’Leary introduced the other women. Mrs. O’Reilly, Miss Dawson and Mrs. Grady all nodded at her and offered their warm welcomes.
The meal began and the boarders chatted amicably. When they questioned her about her background, she left the part out about being fired for stealing. Although she’d felt comfortable with Pamela to admit that, she didn’t think it was wise to spread that tidbit with the other boarders, lest they begin to lock up their jewelry. Or, even worse insist that Mrs. O’Leary toss her to the street.
* * *
Lizbeth glanced at the calendar hanging on her wall, taking note that she’d been at Mrs. O’Leary’s boarding house for two weeks. She was quite settled in, helping Mrs. O’Leary with the housework, then spending time applying for jobs. As she’d feared, with no references, she was having a difficult time finding employment. When she mentioned it to Mrs. O’Leary, the woman would just pat her hand, tell her not to worry about it, and offered tea.
Unfortunately, with a lack of free time, her artwork was once again put aside, but at least she had a roof over her head and a full stomach.
Having finished her kitchen duty, she slowly undressed to put on her favorite nightgown. This one had been given to her by her mother the Christmas before her family had been taken from her. It was beginning to show signs of wear, but she would never let it go. She crushed the nightgown in her fists and sniffed. The smell of her old home had long since vanished with all the washings, but she still tried every night to bring back the security she’d felt—and hadn’t realized she had—one more time.
She slithered into the nightgown and was just climbing into bed when there was a knock on her door. She padded across the room and peeked her head out. Mrs. O’Leary stood there with a glass in her hand.
“My dear, I noticed you were sniffling a bit at dinner. I think it would be a good idea for you to drink this down before you sleep. It will help with the sniffles and allow you to rest easier, too.”
Lizbeth smiled and reached out and took the glass. “Thank you so much. That is very kind of you.”
She downed the drink and handed the glass back to Mrs. O’Leary who waited for it.
“Good night, dear,” she said.
Lizbeth wished her a good night in return and climbed into bed. She picked up the book she’d been reading earlier and yawned. By the time she’d read only about five pages, she grew so sleepy she had to put the book down. Whatever Mrs. O’Leary had given her was certainly working fast. She turned down the wick on the lamp next to her and snuggled under the warm blankets and dozed off to sleep.
Sometime later, Lizbeth slowly opened her eyes, which was quite a chore, since they felt so heavy. Something was dreadfully wrong. She shook her head trying to understand what was happening. It appeared to her sluggish mind that she was being removed from her bed by two men.
“Wh-what?” She tried to ask a question, but her mouth wouldn’t work. She dozed on and off but was aware that she was taken out of the house and placed into a carriage.
Sometime later a bump in the road caused her to jolt awake. “What are…” She attempted to sit up but was pushed back down on the seat. She tried her best to stay awake sensing she was in danger but drifted off to sleep. There was a question she needed to ask but couldn’t remember what it was. It was important, but she couldn’t recall.
The next thing she knew she was being removed from the carriage and carried up several steps. She grew dizzy when she tried to turn her head to see where she was.
“Put her in here.” A man’s voice she did not recognize floated over her, almost from a great distance.
She was placed into another soft, warm bed, and comfortable once again and happy to be out of the frightening dream, she rolled over to return to sleep.
* * *
Having settled all the business matters that needed his attention, Marcus had been about ready to leave for his visit with his sister Addie in Bath when he received a letter from a Mr. Nicholas Smith about the kidnapping of a female friend. The man had a strong suspicion the young lady in question had been taken for the purpose of being sold into prostitution. It seemed Mr. Smith had heard about Marcus’s work on the bill languishing in Parliament and asked if they could meet to consider the matter together.
Although Smith lived in Bath, he was planning on a trip to London where he felt they had a better chance of finding the unfortunate woman. Marcus had immediately put his trip on hold and returned a quick reply, feeling a stirring of interest at the request to meet and discuss the issue.
Due to the extensive research and interviews he’d done while working on the bill to curtail the problem of kidnapping of women and children, he was more than happy to put his hard-earned information and knowledge to good use. The idea raised his spirits as nothing had for months.
While he eagerly awaited the summons from Smith who sent word that he would be travelling to London shortly, and staying at his close friend, Lord Montrose’s house, he had spent time going over the pages of notes he’d gathered in the past few months.
Rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he put the notes aside and made his way downstairs to have a word with his housekeeper. His butler, Grimsley, stopped him and held out a note. “Mr. Mallory, this just arrived for you.”
“Thank you.” Marcus took the note from Grimsley and read it as he walked down the corridor to the housekeeper’s office.
Mr. Mallory:
I received the note you left for me with the Montrose butler to alert you upon our arrival in London. We are here now and would love for you to join us for dinner tonight, if that is acceptable to you.
Mr. Nicholas Smith
A sense of excitement rolled over him. For the first time in months he had a purpose. And a noble purpose. Help a young woman escape the clutches of the worst of society.
He returned to the front door. “Send this no
te back to Mr. Smith at the Montrose House on Grosvenor Square.” Marcus scribbled an acceptance on the back of Smith’s note and handed it to Grimsley.
* * *
A week later, Marcus paced the soft carpet in the library as he awaited the arrival of Nick Smith. It had turned out the missing woman was a friend of Lady Pamela, a lovely lady who Marcus knew through his sister, Addie.
Lady Pamela had traveled to London with Smith because she’d begun to question her friend’s disappearance and soon found herself in danger and had sought Nick’s protection. Marcus smiled remembering how quickly Nick had made it clear at the dinner that Lady Pamela was off limits. Smith’s interest in her was quite apparent.
At the conclusion of their evening Marcus had requested a full description of Miss Davenport. Smith had sent not only a full description, but a sketch of the missing woman. Marcus had taken it to members of his clubs and Parliament that he knew patronized the types of brothels that catered to men who wanted clean women. Which, in most cases, meant young, virginal ones.
He had quickly narrowed it down to two brothels, but one of those seemed more likely than the other, so he and Nick were to visit the brothel that evening.
He blew out a breath of relief at the sound of the door knocker, saving his carpet from ruin. Before Grimsley could even step back to allow Smith in, Marcus was at the door, shrugging into his coat. “Did you bring a pistol?” He pulled on his gloves as they made their way down the steps to his carriage.
“I always carry one. As well as a dagger. Or two.” Nick climbed into the carriage. “I was raised on the streets, remember.”
At the prior meeting, Nick had shared his background with Marcus, a childhood spent on the streets of London and a rise to the owner of an exclusive gambling house in Bath through his own wiles and an uncanny memory for numbers. A remarkable story for certain because it was hard to discern the man’s background from his demeanor.
The Artist and the Rake Page 2