by Karen Ranney
She dug her nails into her palms. She had to believe. It was the first time in days that she had any hope at all. Logan wasn’t a hallucination. He was real. She had to hold on to that thought.
“Your silence does you no good, Eleanor,” Hamilton said. “Let me help you. This situation can’t be comfortable for you.”
She knew better than to listen to his blandishments. His voice was soft and almost kind. She could almost think that he was a compassionate man. Yet people should be judged by their actions, not simply their words. Hamilton had agreed to keep her here. He hadn’t done anything to help her.
She remained silent. Her silence always made him leave faster because it frustrated him. Hamilton was not a man given to patience.
If Michael had visited her—and seen her as she was right now—he would have ended the engagement himself.
Had Deborah encouraged him to stay away? She’s in no fit state, Your Lordship. She’s still stubborn, still refusing to listen to reason. A few more days. A week, no less, and she’ll come around.
She could almost hear her aunt’s words.
“Don’t do this, Eleanor,” Hamilton said. “You’re upsetting everyone.”
She let his words wash over her. She closed her eyes and willed herself back to Queen’s Park. The leaves were falling gently to the ground, obscuring the grass. Bruce ran through them with a puppy’s eagerness and daring, his joy easily interpreted. In her mind he barked excitedly, so that she couldn’t hear Hamilton’s voice.
He finally left.
Her sole occupation during the day was staring out the window, measuring the progress of the sun across the sky. Sometimes she guessed which cloud might produce rain and if fog would obscure her view in the morning.
She slept, as she did most afternoons, simply to pass the time. Sometimes, she put her pillow down on the floor and slept in a square of sunlight like a cat.
When she woke the sky was dark and so was her mood.
She had imagined it, after all. If Logan had been real he would have been here before now.
Help me to bear this. Help me to have the strength to outlast them.
Why was she fighting? Was death preferable to marriage to Michael? No, because if she died he would win.
She would have to agree to the marriage. She would have to excoriate the feelings she had for Logan, burn them until they were no more than ash. Then she would blow the ashes away until they were gone as well.
From this point on she would forever be Eleanor of London. She would never again return to her homeland. Why return if Hearthmere was only a shell of itself? The horses would be gone, the house stripped of its furniture and everything valuable. Even the Clan Hall would be emptied.
She would never forgive Michael for destroying her heritage.
Tomorrow she would send word to Deborah that she was done, that the near starvation, the near nakedness, the sickness had worked.
However, she would never call the woman aunt again. With her marriage to Michael she would do everything in her power to eliminate or diminish any advantage her marriage might bring to her aunt, Hamilton, Jeremy, or Daphne.
If she had her way they would never be invited to a function at Abermarle, never attend a dinner at their home in London. She would never recognize them in public and if she was to be a countess then she would be an icy personage, someone to fear.
They would have won yet lost. She knew that, but they wouldn’t. Not for a while.
At six her stomach began to rumble. They had left the mantel clock, so Eleanor always knew the time, the better to anticipate her one meal of the day, no doubt.
She heard the key in the lock and her stomach growled again. In the first few days it had been almost constant. With a few more days perhaps she wouldn’t feel hunger at all.
Her cousin sailed into the room, pointing to the table beside the lone chair.
“Put it there,” Daphne said to the maid.
The girl did as she was told, stealing a look in Eleanor’s direction. There was kindness in the girl’s eyes and perhaps a little pity, too.
Eleanor glanced at the tray only once, knowing that she wouldn’t be allowed to eat until after Daphne left. The lecture always came first.
There was a bowl on the tray with a spoon and a napkin. A cup and a teapot. No bread and she suspected that the soup was the same pale gruel she’d eaten for the past three days. One day, perhaps, they would only bring her a bowl of water and expect her to subsist on that.
“Have you stopped being foolish?” Daphne said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Is today the day that you finally get some intelligence, Eleanor?” She shook her head. “My two children, young as they are, have more sense than you.”
“Do you starve them, too?”
Daphne smiled. “If you’ll agree, Eleanor, I’ll have a feast prepared for you. You must be hungry.”
Eleanor didn’t answer her cousin. She would surrender to Deborah, but she wouldn’t concede anything to Daphne.
Daphne stared at her for a moment, then stood. Going to the door, she addressed the maid. “Take the tray away.”
“But, Mrs. Baker, Miss Eleanor hasn’t eaten anything.”
“Did you hear what I said? Take the tray away.”
The girl nodded and moved to retrieve the tray, sending Eleanor a quick glance. No, she hadn’t misinterpreted the pity, but what good was pity now?
Eleanor closed her eyes, refusing to look in her cousin’s direction again. Instead, she would remember this morning and seeing Logan again. Even if she’d imagined everything, he’d been a comforting sight. Perhaps she could will him to come to her in her dreams.
He’d hold her hand and tell her that it was going to be all right, even though she knew, very well, that it wasn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
William stopped the carriage on the other side of the square. Tonight there was more traffic than there’d been this morning. They could easily be taken for guests at one of the well-lit houses. Although it was around midnight, parties often lasted until dawn.
They stayed in the carriage for some minutes, watching the Richardses’ house. No lights shone in any of the windows. Either they were out or the household had retired for the night. Logan and Pete, accompanied by Bruce and the two stable boys, kept to the shadows, avoiding pools of lamplight as they crossed the street, heading for the house.
Pete only spent a few seconds opening the lock on the front door.
“It’s a cheap one,” he whispered. “I’ve got a better lock on my flat. You would think that someone with all that money would take care to protect what he had.”
After Pete opened the door, he and Sam melted into the darkness, off to the roof.
Before they went inside, Logan and Phillip took off their shoes. They’d have to make their way up the staircase, taking care to stay on the far side of each step in order to avoid any sounds.
Bruce kept to Logan’s heels, silent and alert. He whined once, but when Logan held his hand down at his side, fingers splayed, he stopped.
They stood in the foyer for a few minutes, listening. He’d guessed that the family had retired, but Logan didn’t know if anyone read late into the night. When they didn’t hear anything they moved cautiously up the staircase, Bruce still at Logan’s side.
Gas sconces were lit in the upper hallway.
Granted, the light made it easier to see, but it also indicated that someone was awake in the house. Either that, or they were taking a chance with fire. Perhaps a footman had been assigned that duty and had momentarily slipped away. Logan couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they were free and clear.
They moved to the landing. There were two hallways, not one, further compounding the issue.
He pulled Eleanor’s garter out of his pocket and gave it to Bruce to sniff. He wasn’t certain that the dog was as scent-trained as Mrs. Campbell believed. At the moment, however, Bruce was their best hope for a speedy rescue.
“Fi
nd her, boy.”
Bruce raced down the hall to the left, leaving the two of them standing there. He sat at a door midway down the hall, looking at Logan, then back at the door.
Logan owed Mrs. Campbell an apology.
“What are you doing in my home, McKnight?”
Well, hell.
He turned to see Richards standing in the middle of the hall in his bathrobe. Now was not the time to enter into a debate about rescuing Eleanor. Nor was he going to stand there and allow Richards to call the Watch.
There was only one thing to do.
“Eleanor! Are you in there? Eleanor!”
The voice that answered was weak, but it was hers. Bruce began barking uncontrollably which was probably enough to bring the rest of the household down on their heads.
Before Richards could say anything or anyone else appeared, Logan lunged at the door. The first attempt didn’t do anything but bruise his shoulder. The second time Phillip added his efforts. Together they managed to damage the jamb sufficiently that the door could be opened.
Eleanor was beside the bed, one hand holding on to a nearby table as if to keep herself standing. She wore the same nightgown he’d seen earlier this morning, but that was all. No slippers. No robe.
She looked as if she’d lost weight since he’d seen her last. Her face was gaunt and pale. Her hand shook as she extended it toward him.
Logan made his way to her side, pulled the bedspread free, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
What had they done to her?
“I thought I dreamed you,” she said, her voice faint. “I thought you were a fantasy, but you aren’t, are you?”
She looked down at Bruce sitting at her feet, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looked especially pleased with himself, as if he’d rescued Eleanor single-handedly.
“Bruce?” The tears in her voice were difficult for him to hear.
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the room, Bruce following.
Richards had been joined by his wife and a few maids and footmen. If they all rushed him he and Phillip wouldn’t have a chance. Logan had a feeling, however, that they wouldn’t. People like Richards and his wife operated in secret. They disliked witnesses to their cruelty. Right now they had a half dozen of their servants overseeing their actions. He doubted they would say or do anything.
He was right about Richards, but not Deborah.
“I don’t care that you’re an MP, McKnight. You have no right to come into our home and remove my niece from it. This is a private matter and you have no business interfering.”
He turned, Eleanor still in his arms.
“I can’t say whether what you’ve done is illegal or not, Mrs. Richards. I know, however, that it’s morally reprehensible. Perhaps we should allow the public to learn of your actions and let them decide.”
The woman took a step backward, her hand at her throat, her other hand at the belt of her wrapper.
“You’re threatening me? Who do you think you are?”
A man in love. A man with a well-developed sense of right and wrong. A man who was more than willing to see the Richardses ruined. Instead of answering Deborah, he smiled.
In the next moment she gathered up her courage again, because she advanced on him. Bruce’s growl was loud and threatening enough that Deborah stopped.
“He’s never bitten anyone,” Logan said. “Not yet. I imagine, though, that he’d like a taste of you.”
Deborah’s eyes widened and she wisely didn’t take another step. He and Phillip descended the stairs, Bruce following. Phillip grabbed their shoes as they left the house.
No one stopped them.
He spoke to Phillip as they headed for the carriage. “Go and tell Pete that we have Eleanor,” he said. “Don’t worry about being quiet. I’m all for letting this whole sordid mess being made public.”
No one left the Richardses’ home to summon the Watch.
Once in the carriage, Logan held Eleanor in his arms instead of settling her on the seat beside him. He didn’t want to release her. She was still trembling and that made him hate Richards even more. He wanted to ask what they had done to her and why, but now was not the time. His first task was to get her somewhere safe.
Pete entered the carriage. “We made it to the window just in time, only to see the two of you crashing through the door. A fine sight it was, although I think you’ll be sporting bruises tomorrow.”
“You’re right there,” Logan said.
“And Bruce was a hero, too,” Pete added. He bent and ruffled the fur between Bruce’s ears.
Eleanor smiled, the first time since leaving the bedroom.
Thankfully, the trip back to Logan’s house was short and uneventful.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was a little past midnight, but Mrs. Campbell was waiting for them when they arrived home. She opened the door as Logan got to the top of the steps, Eleanor still in his arms.
Mrs. Campbell bit back whatever she might have said without their audience. Pete and the two stable boys had followed him into the house and were now standing in the foyer.
Eleanor had her cheek pressed against his shoulder and her eyes closed. When he was a child he’d done the same thing, reasoning that if he couldn’t see the terror, it didn’t exist.
“Let’s get her upstairs,” Mrs. Campbell said, bustling in front of him.
He turned to the other men and asked them to wait.
“You’ve a courier,” Mrs. Campbell said as she opened the door to the guest room. “I’ve put him in the drawing room.”
“From Disraeli?”
She shook her head. “Your uncle.”
His uncle had been in poor health for the past three months. Logan sincerely hoped that the courier’s presence didn’t mean what he dreaded: his uncle’s death and even further complications.
It was obvious his housekeeper had readied the room for Eleanor. A bowl of potpourri was on the bedside table. A gas lamp was already lit, with the bed turned down and a warming pan in the middle of it.
He gently set Eleanor on her feet at the end of the bed and helped her sit.
She smiled wanly up at him, which only made him want to beat her relatives senseless. He’d never been a violent man, but then, he’d never faced a situation like this, either. He didn’t know what had happened since he’d last seen her, but it hadn’t been good.
Her hair was dull. Her face was too pale. Even her lips looked bloodless. Her blue eyes were flat without a hint of their usual liveliness. One hand came out of the cocoon he’d wrapped around her to hold the bedspread in place. She was still trembling.
“Off you go, then,” Mrs. Campbell said. “We’ll be fine on our own. You need to go and see the courier and rid us of all those strangers in our house.”
Mrs. Campbell had never sounded more like his mother than she did now. Would his mother have bossed him around with such fearlessness? From what he’d learned from his uncle, probably.
“You’re safe here,” he said to Eleanor. “No one can hurt you.”
To his horror, she began to cry, soundless tears dripping down her pale cheeks. He gently wiped them away with his fingertips. Then, despite the presence of Mrs. Campbell, he bent and kissed Eleanor on the cheek.
He didn’t want to leave her, but his housekeeper was right. He had other duties to handle at the moment. Besides, his place was not here helping Eleanor bathe or dress.
Bruce didn’t seem inclined to follow him, so he left the dog in the bedroom. Eleanor would probably welcome Bruce’s loyalty. God knows her relatives hadn’t demonstrated any.
He descended the stairs, leading the three men into his study. He got four glasses and poured a measure of whiskey into each of them before handing three of the glasses to the others.
“To a successful conclusion to tonight’s activities,” he said as a toast.
After going to his desk he opened his strongbox, taking out an amount he thought equal to the night’s
work.
Handing the money to each of the stable boys, he said, “Consider this a bonus. Thank you for your actions tonight. I don’t think we would have been able to rescue Eleanor without you.”
The young men look shocked, then gratified. The amount would make their lives a little easier, buy them something that they hadn’t saved for, or allow them to give someone an unexpected present.
He watched as they left, then turned to Pete. He’d already paid him for his work tonight, but there was something that Pete needed more than money.
“I hope tonight is the last time you’ll use your tools of the trade, Pete. I don’t want Molly or the baby to have to get along without you.”
The other man only nodded, but Logan noticed that he didn’t promise. Nothing he could say would alter Pete’s trajectory in life. Only Pete’s determination would do that.
“Do you have a job waiting? Anyone who wants to employ you?”
“No, but it’s early days yet,” Pete said. His smile wasn’t convincing.
“I’ll hire you,” Logan said. “Mrs. Campbell will be your boss and she’s tough. One thing goes missing, though, Pete, and she’ll skin you like a rabbit. Do you understand?”
“Never worked for a woman before, Logan. I’d like to think about it.”
Logan nodded. He’d done what his conscience decreed. What Pete did with the opportunity was his decision.
He sent Pete back to his house in his carriage, thanking William for his work in tonight’s adventure. His driver smiled and tipped his hat.
“It’s been a while, sir, since I was in the army, but tonight felt like I’d returned.”
Logan dreaded the last chore of the night. He entered the drawing room, apologizing for the delay. The man simply nodded and handed him an envelope.
“A letter from your sister, sir.”
That was the worst news.
“How is he?”
For the first time the man smiled. “Stubborn, sir. Loud, as usual. Begging your pardon, sir.”