“I fear your dowry has induced this mad scheme.”
“You don’t believe he loves me?” Eleanor hugged herself.
Victoria opened her mouth to recount Mrs. Leighton’s warning, but she swallowed the words. She didn’t want to be the one to break Eleanor’s heart. “If his love is true, he will be patient and woo you until your parents are won over. He shouldn’t ask you to sacrifice your reputation.”
“But he says he has given up his rooms and is spending the afternoon readying our conveyance. He will be waiting with bated breath for me, and I have no way to get word to him. His heart will be shattered if I do not meet him.” Eleanor paced. “I can simply show up, inform him I can’t elope, but my heart remains true, and return home.”
“Your mother will never allow you take the family carriage to a common house. Alone. If you or your carriage are recognized, you will be ruined.”
“Do you have a function tonight?”
“My parents are attending a dinner at the Carlyle’s, but I begged off.”
“Mother won’t know that. I could tell her you have extended an invitation to me. She trusts Lady Hawkins. I will come to your house and once your parents have left take a hack to this Bear and Crown place and explain myself. Dear Randall will understand my heart is true. Then I will return to you with no one the wiser.”
“That is a foolhardy plan. Not to mention dangerous. I can’t support it.”
Too many possibilities swirled. What if Lord Berkwith didn’t take no for an answer and abducted Eleanor? As her father often opined, desperation turned good men evil, and Victoria wasn’t sure how good Lord Berkwith was to begin with.
“You could send a note.” Victoria knew the suggestion would be discarded before she even made it.
“I will go with or without your help.” Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with tears and determination.
It was clear Eleanor would not allow Berkwith to pine alone and discarded. Victoria paced and set to formulating a better plan—not that that was saying much. The last thing Victoria wanted was to involve herself further, but she saw no choice. At least she could take care of herself. Eleanor was an innocent lamb among wolves.
“I will go and decline the elopement on your behalf then call on you tomorrow with whatever message he would like to pass on to you.” The one upside to her plan was being able to have a forthright chat with the possibly feckless lord.
“I can’t ask you to put your reputation at risk for me, Victoria.”
Victoria waved the thought away. “I am used to concealment and deception.”
A puzzled look drew Eleanor’s brows inward. “Whatever do you mean?”
Victoria pursed her lips. She’d said too much. For one thing, Sir Hawkins was only known as a man of political influence to society at large. Few understood his actual role. Not to mention, Victoria wasn’t sure how Eleanor would look upon her clandestine outings to bookshops and museums dressed as a sober, veiled widow. Would she be fascinated or scandalized? Neither possibility boded well.
“You must be kind.” Eleanor paced. “And you must assure him of my good will and affection.”
“Of course, I’ll be kind as possible.” Unfortunately for Lord Berkwith, Victoria wasn’t feeling a depth of human kindness at the moment.
“I wouldn’t sleep a wink wondering at his reaction. No. I will tell Mother I’m accompanying your family to dinner this evening and wait in your room while you meet with him.”
Victoria sighed and girded herself to persuade her friend otherwise. Fifteen minutes passed wherein Eleanor countered every argument Victoria made until she accepted it was useless. At least Eleanor would be safe in Victoria’s room and not in Lord Berkwith’s clutches.
On the walk back to her town house, Victoria worked out how to sneak Eleanor into her room, disguise herself, meet a man at a common house, and avoid getting caught or ruined. Honestly, it seemed straightforward enough.
Garrick couldn’t shake the niggling feeling something was wrong. Trouble was, he couldn’t pinpoint the source as being external or somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
He paced the pavement outside the Hawkins’s town house, but the night was quiet. The temperature had dropped precipitously. The amassing clouds of the morning had moved in and obscured the moon and stars. The coal black sky spit out a few snowflakes.
He returned to the house, chafing his hands, and stood in the entry, hearing only the usual domestic clatter. The laughter from downstairs was a bit louder as the servants finished their work and socialized in the kitchen, knowing the master and missus were absent.
He’d been tasked to remain at the house. Victoria was feeling peaked, or so she’d informed her parents, and had bowed out of the planned dinner party. Garrick hoped he wasn’t the reason she was feeling sick. The guilt of his indiscretion was crushing him. While he might not be well born or wealthy, he was honorable. Or so he’d believed.
A rattle of dishes brought his attention around to Annie, Victoria’s maid. There was a steaming teapot, cup and saucer, and an assortment of food on a tray.
“How is your mistress feeling?” he asked.
The maid started and blinked at him. “She must be in poor straights. She asked me to leave the tray outside her door and not to enter under any circumstances.”
“I’ll take it to her. You can put your feet up in the kitchen.” He took the tray. Or tried to, at any rate. Annie didn’t seem inclined to let go.
“There’s no need, sir. I’m sure you have more pressing matters.” Annie tugged the tray back toward her.
“Annie. Let go of the tray.” He used his most intimidating tone.
Annie firmed her jaw and, after another few seconds of playing tug-of-war, released the tray with a rattle of china. “Have it your way, sir. But don’t forget, Miss Victoria does not want to be disturbed. Just give a rap and leave the tray.”
Nonplussed, Garrick stared at the maid. She seemed to be waiting for something, and finally, he nodded. “I won’t disturb her.”
“Very good then. See that you don’t.” Annie pointed a rather threatening finger at him before turning and making her way back toward the kitchens, reluctance obvious in her mincing steps.
He waited until she disappeared before tackling the stairs to Victoria’s room. He owed her an apology. He should have offered one as soon as they’d returned, but he’d been a coward. He let a huffing laugh escape. He’d never been accused of cowardice before. His cohorts in the shadows would have a good laugh over his current predicament.
He hesitated outside Victoria’s door before shifting the tray and rapping lightly. “Are you well?”
No answer.
“I’m going to come in. If you’re truly ill, I should send for a physician.”
A thump sounded on the other side of the door, followed by shuffling feet. “Uh, no, thank you, sir. I merely need sleep. Leave the tray outside and leave. Please.”
Sir? Had Victoria ever addressed him such? Only mockingly, and the voice on the other side held no humor. Garrick examined the tray. Bread and cheese and cured meat. A hefty slice of cake. Whoever was on the other side of the door, it wasn’t an ill Victoria. Was it a French agent? Was Victoria being held hostage or worse?
Garrick’s heart sprinted ahead, but he forced fear out of his head. Noiselessly, he set the tray down and tried the latch. Locked. In as calm a voice as he could manage, he said, “I know you aren’t Victoria Hawkins. Open the bloody door.”
“Wh-whatever do you mean? Of course I’m Victoria.” Whoever was in the room was too poor a liar to be an enemy agent.
“You have until I count to five to open the door.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will break the door down and force the truth out of you. Very unpleasantly.”
He made it to two.
A soft creak signaled her capitulation and revealed a lady who had come to call many times but whose name he couldn’t recall. The bed was rumpled, and a novel lay splayed on
the rug. Nothing else in the room raised alarms. Except for the woman who was not Victoria.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“E-Eleanor Stanfield. Lady Eleanor Stanfield.” She shuffled backward until her bum hit the mattress, and she sprawled in a half-reclined position. “Please don’t ravish me.”
The lady was terrified, and as it was partly—all right, mostly—his fault, he tempered his voice and held up his hands in supplication. “I’m not going to ravish you. I’ve been tasked to protect Miss Hawkins by her father. I can’t protect what is not here, now can I? Where is she?”
“Nowhere.”
Garrick sighed. “Lady Eleanor. I know you know where she is. Tell me.”
Lady Eleanor daubed her lips with her tongue, her gaze darting around the room as if the answer lay somewhere between the bed and hearth. “She’s running an errand for me.”
“This late in the evening? Unchaperoned?” His hands curled into fists.
Sir and Lady Hawkins had taken the carriage, which meant Victoria was traveling on foot or in a hack. While he didn’t want to frighten Lady Eleanor into muteness, urgency thrummed through him. He stepped forward and stared into her eyes. “Victoria may be in danger. You need to help me help your friend. Where did she go?”
With the tell of one who was guilty, she couldn’t hold his gaze. “The Bear and the Crown.”
He was familiar with the common house. It sat on the edge of Clerkenwell, a section of London that had been fashionable many monarchs ago. It had deteriorated into a warren full of vendors and artists and printers. While it wasn’t as dangerous as Seven Dials, it was no place for a gently bred young lady, even one as capable as Victoria, especially after dark.
“Why on earth did she go to the Bear and the Crown?”
“To meet a gentleman.”
Her pronouncement made him reel back a step. Had he been blind to the fact she was in love with another? Had his blatant hunger driven her to rashness?
“I didn’t realize she had a special gentleman.” He barely recognized his voice. “Still it begs the question of why he is not calling at the house like a true gentleman.”
“Oh. Well, as to that…” Lady Eleanor fiddled with the lace edging on her sleeve. “Lord Berkwith is not her special gentleman, but… mine.”
“Victoria has gone to meet Lord Berkwith? On your behalf?” At Lady Eleanor’s nod, he ran a hand through his hair. “Why would she do such a foolish thing?”
“She only wished to protect me. You see, Lord Berkwith asked me to elope with him.” Now that the confession had begun, the words rushed out in a torrent. “Victoria didn’t think it wise. She says he should pay his addresses like the gentleman he is, but I had no way to get a missive to him and didn’t want him to think my love is not true, so Victoria went in my place.”
He had many questions but distilled his thoughts to the most pertinent. “How did she get there?”
“She planned to walk until she came across a hack to hire.”
“Did she take anyone with her?” Callum, Henry, and Annie were all at the house, so he was terrified he already knew the answer.
“No,” Lady Eleanor said in a small voice.
“When did she leave?”
“A quarter hour ago. Perhaps a bit less.”
A heartbeat later, he was in motion, taking the stairs two at a time and running for the mews behind the town house. Garrick kept a horse stabled in case Sir Hawkins needed him on urgent business. He saddled the bay gelding in under two minutes and paused for a breath, considering leaving word with Callum, but every second felt precious.
Garrick swung himself into the saddle and pointed the horse toward Clerkenwell. The streets weren’t crowded, and with any luck he’d make up time on her head start.
When—he didn’t allow himself to think in ifs—he found her safe and sound, he was going to sit her down and tell her exactly what he thought of her.
The woman was daft and careless. Loyal and brave. Bold and beautiful. No woman had ever come close to usurping the ridiculous tendre he nurtured for her. He would kiss her again, and this time he wouldn’t apologize.
Fear mounted. He had seen too much to assume she would be safe because she was a gentlewoman. In fact, as Sir Hawkins’s daughter, she was in even greater danger.
Chapter 4
Victoria squirmed on the squab. The springs dug into her bottom, and for the first time, she was thankful for the darkness and her veil so she couldn’t see what smelled so musty. The passing town houses and shops grew more modest the farther they clattered away from her home in Mayfair until they teetered on the edge of squalor.
Fear urged her to call up to the jarvey to turn around and take her home. Fury at Lord Berkwith stilled the compulsion. That he would ask dear innocent Eleanor to meet him at a less-than-respectable common house was beyond the pale and cemented Victoria’s doubt as to his character. She would ring a peal over his head until he begged for mercy. He deserved worse. The man was a bounder.
The hack slowed. Victoria twisted the ties of her reticule around her fingers. A small sheathed dagger was inside. She had donned a plain black dress with an equally plain cloak and a veiled hat to mask her identity. Padding around her middle concealed her figure and, along with the unfashionable attire, gave the impression of a plump matron.
She wasn’t unused to clandestine excursions, but her unchaperoned daytime jaunts to bookshops didn’t inspire the nerves she battled tonight. They had been larks. If she’d been caught buying torrid novels, at worst, her mother would have berated her and attempted to crush her with maternal disappointment. Victoria would have risen from the ashes unrepentant.
Tonight’s excursion held the risk of ruination. There would be no coming back from that if she were caught.
“We’re ’ere, miss.” The jarvey’s voice was muffled by the knitted cowl around his neck.
The remnants of a storied past were still evident on the sign swinging unevenly outside the Bear and the Crown. All that was left were crinkled flakes of red and blue and white muted by coal dust and neglect. The inn was busy on the cold evening, and every time the door opened, light and noise poured out a welcome.
She exited the hack and looked up at the man, his form shadowy behind the veil. “I’ll only be a moment. Will you wait?”
“It’ll cost you extra.” The man didn’t look at her but held out his hand.
She slipped him the coins, not sure if it was too much or not enough, and waited for his brief nod. Then she faced the door and adjusted her veil as if it were a knight’s visor. Even the false protection was welcome.
She slipped in the door of the common house and scuttled along the wall, scanning the room for Lord Berkwith. It wasn’t difficult to spot the popinjay among the crows. Narrowing her gaze, she strode to the bar where he was drinking an ale, his shoulders hunched and his foot jiggling on the boot rail.
The man was nervous. Was he nervous that Eleanor wouldn’t show or because if she did, he would have to put his dishonorable plans into motion?
Victoria tapped his shoulder when she would have preferred to knock him across the side of his head. He spun around and tried to take her hands. “Oh, Eleanor, my love. You came. How bright you are to assemble such a disguise.”
Victoria slapped his hands away. “I’m not the object of your affection, my lord. Come with me.” She didn’t wait for a response, but spun on her heel and left the common room.
After the crowded warmth of the room, the cold cut all the deeper. In the time it took Lord Berkwith to walk from the common house to the curb, he had assembled his wits, such as they were. “Why didn’t Eleanor come? Does she not love me?”
The man sounded truly despondent, which gave Victoria pause. “If you wish to pay your addresses to Eleanor, you need to call upon her father and do it honorably, not by invitation to a common house for an elopement.”
“Lord Stanfield believes I only want her dowry.”
“And don’t you? If t
he rumors are true, you have debts, my lord, rather substantial ones.” Victoria suspected the color flushing his face wasn’t entirely due to the biting breeze swirling around them.
“I can’t deny her dowry would be most welcome, but please don’t judge my character based on my past actions. I have not crossed the threshold of a gaming hell since meeting Eleanor.” He lay his hand over his heart.
Blast it. She was inclined to believe him. It would be easier if she could dismiss him as a cad, but her father had taught her that people couldn’t be sorted into good or bad bins. “And what of Mrs. Leighton? Have you professed your love to her as well?”
“How do you…?” Lord Berkwith cleared his throat. His reaction had provided answer enough, but he continued anyway. “We shared brief dalliance that meant nothing. She is a lady of the world and understands the way of these things.”
Victoria was inclined to disagree. Mrs. Leighton was a woman of feeling like any other, yet Victoria could do nothing for her. She would, however, protect Eleanor as best she could. “You must prove your steadfastness to Eleanor and your worth to her family. Patience and persistence are required. No more invitations to common houses or plans to elope, my lord. Are we clear?”
“Quite.” Lord Berkwith’s gaze narrowed as if trying to see behind the veil. Hopefully, the dress and cloak and padding gave the impression of an older lady. Someone stern and not to be crossed, like a beloved aunt.
Victoria turned toward the waiting hack. Shadowy movement from the mouth of the alley down the lane caught her attention. Two men were moving toward her and Lord Berkwith. They were no doubt headed to the warmth and comfort of the Bear and the Crown. Except…
They didn’t speak to one another or call out a good evening. Their movements were silent and stealthy and swift. They reminded her of the men who sometimes came to meet with her father. By the time she recognized the danger snapping in the air, the men were upon them.
She opened her mouth to warn Lord Berkwith, but it was too late. One of the men came up behind Lord Berkwith and thumped a truncheon against his temple. He crumpled like a rag doll. A shot of fear had Victoria leaping into action. She made a run for the hack while fumbling for the dagger in her reticule. The ties were a complex puzzle she couldn’t solve.
A Scandalous Secret: Spies and Lovers Page 4