Algernon sighed heavily and picked up his pen to scrawl a terse response to the Baron’s letter. A dead dog or an unfaithful wife was no excuse for calling his tobacco inferior.
* * *
Elizabeth Caddy, Baroness of Mullins sat in her sitting room with an embroidery sampler in her lap. She had not managed a single stitch. To do such a thing seemed like the greatest of trivialities. How could she sew when her only child was missing?
There was an ache inside her that had not left her since the day Letitia had disappeared. Fragile, faint-hearted Letitia. How would a young lady so delicate and sheltered ever survive out in the world on her own?
Elizabeth tossed the sampler onto the floor, a roll of cotton escaping beneath the chaise. She pressed a hand to her chest. The ache, the worry had become a physical thing. And so had the anger.
Elizabeth Caddy had been wary of the Duke of Banfield ever since her husband had begun doing business with him two years earlier. Though the Baron rarely shared his business concerns with her, he had let slip one day that the Duke had not honored a deal the two gentlemen had made. Contracts had been signed, the Baron had explained, but the Duke had somehow found a loophole.
Gentlemen like that, Elizabeth knew, were not to be trusted. If she had had her way, she would have told her husband to cease doing business with the Duke.
But who was she to voice these concerns? The Baron stood firm as the head of the household. He made all the decisions when it came to the well-being of his business, along with the well-being of his wife and daughter. Elizabeth and Letitia had always known better than to argue, or speak out or question. In truth, they had rarely had any need to. Colin Caddy was a good gentleman. Elizabeth knew that well. A gentleman who would do anything for his wife and daughter.
But when the Baron had returned home from his ill-fated meeting with the Duke of Banfield several weeks earlier, Elizabeth had known at once that something was wrong. The Baron seemed more pale than usual, and there was a new slump to his shoulders. A knot formed in Elizabeth’s stomach. She’d felt certain her husband’s sorry demeanor was the doing of the Duke of Banfield.
Elizabeth had not expected to hear a word of what had taken place in the meeting between the Baron and the Duke. Her husband was always tight-lipped about the goings-on of his business. She’d been surprised when he had reached across the supper table and clamped a hand over hers.
“Stay,” he said, though they had both finished the last of their pudding. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Elizabeth nodded wordlessly. Yes, she needed to know what had taken place at that meeting. Needed to know what had caused the color to drain so dramatically from her husband’s face.
“It involves Letitia,” said the Baron, making the knot in Elizabeth’s stomach tighten.
She frowned. “Involves Letitia how?”
And in a sorry, muted tone, the Baron went on to recount the details of the meeting. A great sum of money owed to the Duke. His refusal to accept the repayment plan. Their daughter’s hand in marriage in lieu of the money owed.
Elizabeth felt cold and unsteady. She had not thought that they might be in such financial trouble. And she had not thought of how the Duke of Banfield had even come to know of Letitia. Her daughter barely left the house.
Perhaps the Baron had spoken of her, she reasoned. She pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter how the Duke knew of Letitia. It only mattered that he did. And now he wanted her as his wife in order to settle his debts.
Surely there had to be another way?
“It will be a fine marriage for her,” the Baron said finally. He tried for a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Elizabeth could tell how much it was paining him to have bartered with his daughter like this. Nonetheless, her husband was right. In theory, marriage to the Duke of Banfield would be a fine thing. Letitia would become a Duchess. A fine match for a Baron’s daughter. And yet, Elizabeth Caddy was unable to stop the feeling of discomfort crawling beneath her skin.
It was almost two weeks now since Letitia had run away. While Elizabeth had been shocked that her timid daughter had dared to do such a thing, she understood. The Duke of Banfield was not a good person. And if she weren’t so immensely worried, she might manage to be relieved that Letitia had seemingly avoided marrying him.
But Elizabeth couldn’t manage anything even close to relief. She was far too terrified. The world was an unforgiving place. It would eat a young lady like Letitia alive. And the Baron, in Elizabeth’s opinion, was not doing nearly enough to find her.
She knew her husband had sent his footmen out to undertake a thorough search of the city. There had been a brief moment of hope when one of the men had returned with a possible sighting of Letitia at Covent Garden market. But the trail had quickly gone dry.
There had been no sign of Letitia for days.
Elizabeth had accosted her husband in his smoking room. “We need to go to the press,” she said, with a firmness she could not remember ever speaking with before.
The Baron’s furry eyebrows shot up at her directness. He shook his head, taking the pipe from his lips and blowing out a thick cloud of smoke. “No press. I’ve told you before. If people hear of Letitia’s escape, it will destroy us.” His voice softened slightly. “My men are out there searching every inch of the city. We’ll find her, Elizabeth. I swear it.”
But three more days had passed with no news. Her husband’s footmen were simply not doing a good enough job of finding their daughter.
Elizabeth looked upwards at the sound of footsteps thudding above her head. Her husband was pacing across his office again. He had been doing much pacing of late. Elizabeth was surprised he’d not yet worn a hole through the floor. She strode up the stairs towards those footsteps and rapped sharply on the door.
“Who is it?” the Baron asked gruffly.
“It’s your wife.”
The footsteps came hurriedly towards the door. The Baron opened it in surprise. In more than twenty years of marriage, she had never once appeared at his office this way.
Elizabeth fixed him with hard eyes. “The press,” she said firmly. “It’s high time we went to them. Spread the word of Letitia’s disappearance. Your footmen have brought no news in days.”
For a moment, the Baron didn’t speak.
“This is our daughter, Colin,” Elizabeth pushed. “Is our reputation truly more important to you than her safety?” Her voice wavered.
The Baron exhaled sharply. “No,” he said finally. “Of course not.” He pulled her into him, holding her tightly against his chest. Elizabeth felt her body slacken a little in his arms. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so close to her husband. There was a distant familiarity to it, to his warmth, his faint tobacco and brandy smell. She could hear his heart beating fast.
Impulsively, she slid her arms around his waist and squeezed. Though distance had appeared between herself and the Baron over the years, she had never stopped loving him. Never stopped believing him a good and decent gentleman.
After a moment, he stepped back, “I’ll go to the press,” he said. “I’ll tell them all that’s happened.” He pressed a kiss into the top of Elizabeth’s head. “We’ll find our daughter. I swear it.”
* * *
The only way to survive life at the Radcliffe manor, Letitia decided, was to throw herself into her work. She had plenty to learn about being a kitchen hand, and absorbing the new information would go some way to keeping her mind occupied.
She had hoped her attraction to Lord Radcliffe might suddenly have evaporated. After all, she had made an utter fool of herself by throwing herself at him outside Harriet’s room. Had made an utter fool of herself outside the hotel. Surely that had to be enough for her body to cease this madness.
But that morning, when she had passed him in the hallway, her heart had begun to race and her mouth had gone dry. She’d responded to his “good morning” with some barely audible garble.
So no, her attraction had not disappeared. Knowing the way it felt to have Lord Radcliffe’s lips against her own only made her want him more. But she would just have to learn to ignore her feelings. If she was going to survive here— which it seemed she had little choice to do given her hideous inability to climb onto a coach— she would have to pretend her skin did not burn at the very thought of him.
And she would also learn how to make the best damn pigeon pie this city had ever seen.
Margaret seemed rather pleased at Letitia’s sudden burning desire to improve her cooking prowess. Letitia had expected the cook to be all huffing and criticisms, but Margaret turned out to be strangely supportive.
Perhaps it was the compliments Letitia was piling on that were keeping the cook so compliant.
“Oh you make it all look so easy…”
“I’ll simply never do it as well as you!”
By the end of the day, Letitia had produced a pigeon pie that looked almost good enough to be sold at a restaurant. She had also managed a cauliflower soup that, unlike her previous attempts, did not have the consistency of mud.
“Well,” said Margaret, bringing the wooden spoon to her lips to sample the soup, “I do believe this is rather edible, Miss Cooper. I must say, I’m surprised.”
Letitia felt a small smile in the corner of her lips. That, she felt certain, was as close to a compliment from Margaret as she would ever get.
* * *
There was something wrong with the cauliflower soup. It was far too tasty.
Algernon brought his spoon to his mouth, frowning as he swallowed.
“What’s wrong, Papa?” asked Harriet. “Don’t you like it?”
He did like it, and that was just the problem. How he missed the burned bacon and door-stop-solid bread Molly Cooper used to serve up. There was something utterly endearing about choking down his charcoaled supper and pretending to enjoy it.
When the meal was over, Algernon collected another bottle of brandy from the cabinet in the parlor, along with a sample of the tobacco he’d recently imported. He rode across town to Edward Greenwood’s manor.
“You can’t tell me it’s business again,” Edward said with a wry smile, ushering Algernon into his smoking room. “I know there’s something else bothering you.”
Algernon sat the brandy on the table, along with the tobacco, which was most certainly not of inferior quality.
And he found himself telling Edward everything.
With a glass of brandy in his hand and pipe smoke searing his throat, the whole sorry tale came tumbling out; the way Molly Cooper had rescued his daughter at the market, his offering her a job so she might not leave. Every sorry detail, culminating in his lustful misdemeanor outside Harriet’s room several nights ago.
Edward rubbed his eyes. He did not look quite as surprised as Algernon had been expecting. “Good Lord, Radcliffe,” he said with a weary sigh. “You’re a bloody fool.”
“I’m fully aware of that fact,” said Algernon. “I was hoping you might have something a little more helpful to offer.”
Edward lit a match and held it to his pipe. “Well,” he said, “you’d not be the first gentleman to go lusting after his young kitchen hand, I’m sure.”
Algernon said nothing. He had been lusting after Molly Cooper, yes. But it was far more than that. He had fallen in love with her. As he opened his mouth to speak, Edward said, “But most gentlemen know not to act on such urges.” He chuckled. “At least, they know better than to tell anyone they acted on such urges.”
Algernon sighed heavily. He was no fool. He knew every second nobleman had taken a pretty young worker to his bed. But he did not want to be that kind of person. He did not want Harriet to have that kind of father. And Molly Cooper deserved far better than to be treated in such a way.
He did not just want Miss Cooper in his bed. He wanted her heart, her love. He wanted to spend every morning of the rest of his life waking up beside her.
He found himself saying, “If I were to marry her…”
Edward hawked up his brandy. “Marry her?” he spluttered. “Do you hear yourself?” He collapsed into a dramatic fit of coughing that he was clearly putting on. After he had regained his composure, he sat his glass down and looked squarely at Algernon. “You can’t marry her.”
“Why not?”
Edward shook his head in exasperation. “Because she’s your kitchen hand, Radcliffe.”
“I love her,” Algernon said defiantly. It was the first time he had admitted such a thing out loud and it made his heart begin to thunder.
Edward rubbed his eyes again. “Good Lord.”
Algernon looked out the window at the haloes of light glinting around the streetlamps. Edward’s reaction to his confession had given him a taste of how things might be if he truly were to marry Molly Cooper. A taste of how the ton might react if he were to thrust a shy kitchen hand into their midst.
Algernon had come to realize he no longer wanted a life of hiding away from the world. And yet how could he expect Miss Cooper to exist in a society that spat out their brandy at the thought of her becoming a nobleman’s wife?
A part of him was disappointed at Edward’s bluntness. His friend had always tolerated the less conventional parts of Algernon’s personality. He had been hoping for a little more understanding. But this, he supposed, was a step too far.
Algernon watched Edward blow a line of smoke towards the ceiling. “It’s fine stuff, don’t you think? Top quality.”
Edward put down the pipe. “No, don’t even think of changing the subject. We’re not discussing your tobacco. We’re discussing this most foolish notion you have of marrying your kitchen hand.”
Algernon tossed back his drink, feeling suitably chastened.
“You do have one thing right,” Edward said finally. “It is time you remarried. You deserve to be happy, Algernon. You ought to have a lady in your life. A real lady.” He grinned. “And I know Tom will be delighted to see you at his ball next week.”
Chapter 19
Being forced to dig the mothball-scented jacket out of his wardrobe again, Algernon assumed, was fair punishment for his being foolish enough to admit his love for Molly Cooper. He had left Edward’s manor with his head hung in shame, promising his attendance at the ball of Thomas Billington, the Earl of Winton, and their most outspoken friend from university.
Algernon pulled on the jacket, feeling even more unenthused about attending a social event than he had the last time. There was a stain on the lapel from where Molly Cooper had slopped her tea down his front the night he had returned from the Duke of Eastbury’s ball.
The thought made him smile, then quickly made him ache. When he returned home tonight, he knew he would not be drinking tea in the parlor with Miss Cooper.
He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he ought never have gone after her when she had fled the manor after their kiss outside Harriet’s room. No, there was no perhaps about it. Life without Molly Cooper had been bleak and colorless, but it had been far easier. He had not felt this cold and hollow since those dreadful days after Charlotte had died.
He thought to make his excuses. No one would miss him at the ball, surely. Everyone was used to him not being there. Edward and the others would toss back a few drinks and they’d soon forget he’d ever been invited. He ought to retreat to his smoking room with a large brandy and a sizeable portion of self-pity.
No. I’ve had enough of self-pity.
As much as he was loath to do so, Algernon knew it was for the best that he haul himself out of the manor tonight. He had enjoyed it last time, he reminded himself. Against all odds, he had found himself laughing and reminiscing with his university friends. Had found himself leaving with a lightness in his chest and a smile on his face.
But tonight, things would be different. Edward had made no secret of the fact that he was about to join the ranks of the find Algernon Fletcher a new wife brigade.
For the best, I suppose. These past few days have shown
me how much I do need a lady in my life.
Algernon kissed Harriet goodbye, then made his way out to the waiting coach. When he arrived at the Winton manor, he found Edward and Lady Wesley waiting for him outside.
I’m in need of a chaperone now, am I? A watchful eye to ensure I focus on the ladies and not the kitchen hands…
Edward clapped him over the shoulder as he climbed from the coach. “I’m glad you made it. I had my doubts.”
Algernon smiled wryly. “Yes. So did I.”
The three of them walked up the stone staircase towards the entrance of the manor. Lamps were flickering at the front of the property, casting long shadows over the stairs. A cold wind tore suddenly across the grounds, making the flames dance wildly. Edward slid a casual arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulled her close, sheltering her from the bitter wind.
Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance Page 17