“Or,” Lady Iris said with a shrug, “it is a sign you should not take lightly. Break your engagement with Allerton. What’s the worst that could come of it? Let him be free to pursue someone else.”
The worst that could come of it was a scandal my reputation might not survive. And once my reputation was ruined, no one would want to tie themselves to me, and Mama would die without a son-in-law. I was too busy mulling over this fact that it was several moments before I’d registered Iris’s counsel.
I stopped in my tracks. “Free to pursue someone else,” I said to myself.
Lady Iris heard. “Yes.” She was looking out the window as if she were bored of this conversation. “Someone less angelic.”
There was a long pause where I held absolutely still, until my anger built past the point of containment. “This is all a scheme. Your scheme to have him for yourself.”
She looked back and blinked, mouth falling open in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your cousin warned you away from William after giving you a false report of his character. Because of it, you called things off with him. And now Allerton—a man you’ve clearly been developing feelings for, feelings you profess not to have—has offered for someone else, and you cannot abide it.”
For the first time, Iris was completely without words. She sputtered for a moment before finally saying, “W-What sheer nonsense!”
“You know the perfect way to ruin someone’s happiness, for it was done to you: accuse the man of immoral behavior. William, Allerton, it is the same story, only this time you are the one exploiting my naiveté. You have told me this invention so I will call off my engagement, allowing you to keep your heart intact.”
Lady Iris scoffed, but her eyes gleamed with anger, as if my arrows had found their mark.
“Can you deny it? I have witnessed your callousness and manipulation firsthand. Something this underhanded is not beneath you.”
Lady Iris stood, face red with rage. “Miss Wycliffe, you will not address me in such a fashion!”
She did not deny it. And I was not finished.
“From the moment you entered my life you were intent upon destroying it. You have only ever wanted to humiliate me, and put me down, and exact your revenge for being more to William than you ever were. Your façade of friendship was never welcome, and I demand that you never utter such salacious rumors about my fiancé again. You will leave this house at once.”
Her chest rose and fell, nostrils flared. But she turned and gathered her reticule and gloves, fallen to the floor when she’d jumped to her feet. When she straightened, she managed to lift her chin and school her features into controlled contempt.
“You have made your point blatantly clear, Miss Wycliffe.” Her words were brusque. “I will take my leave, but not before saying this: I did not come here out of the generosity of my heart. Against my better judgement, I pitied your predicament. In the future I will be disinclined to act upon my sentiments where it concerns you. If indeed I have them at all.” She swept out of the room, posture ramrod straight, eyes fixed beyond me.
I stayed in the drawing room, fuming, for several minutes more. Then I collapsed onto the settee, bitter pangs searing through me. I’d never liked Iris. She was arrogant and cynical. Absolutely insufferable.
But for some reason, now that she was gone, along with William and John, I suddenly felt more alone than I’d ever been.
Chapter 24
“Remind me why I am doing this again.”
As we bustled down the street, I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time, regretting ever asking Matthew along.
I wasn’t about to knowingly risk myself any more than necessary. I needed a companion, and Mrs. Burbank was out of the question. If I were to run into trouble, she was more liable to faint than be of much help. Not to mention that the whole excursion would have been a long sequence of flutterings, mutterings, and digging heels as I tried to navigate the streets leading to the prison.
Although, with all his reluctance, Matthew was proving to be just as difficult.
I inhaled, hoping the extra air would lend me patience. “Because,” I said, readjusting the scratchy gray dress and cape I had bought off one of the maids, “I needed someone I could boss around. And though I hate to admit anything that would give you an even bigger head than you already have, you’re the smartest person I know.”
“To be fair, you don’t know many smart people.” Matthew paused to pull his threadbare coat tighter, even though the afternoon was the warmest we’d had so far this year. I’d been forced to find clothes for him, to better blend in with our surroundings. At first he’d frowned and raised a disgusted nostril, but once he’d realized where we were headed, he’d seen the sense in it.
Matthew shivered. “Of course, the fact that you’re not overly smart yourself doesn’t help much.”
I sighed again, muttering, “I knew this was a mistake.”
“Honestly, Eliza, we’re passing lady-birds and drunken sailors on every corner. Someone tried to pickpocket me. Twice. I don’t have to be a genius to know that what we’re doing is definitely not smart.”
I scurried past a man hawking spare teeth from the edge of a shanty. The streets were relatively crowded, so it was not unusual to bump shoulders with passersby, but with Matthew’s comment about pickpockets my hand went to the coins I’d sewn into my coat, grateful that I’d had enough foresight to do so.
“My feet hurt.” Matthew halted and crossed his arms. “I’m not taking another step until you tell me what’s going on. And why the deuce we didn’t just take a carriage.”
All around us were the cries of vendors and swaddled babes. I stopped and turned to Matthew, annoyed that he chose here, of all places, to have this out.
“Hullo, luv.” A man snaked an arm around my waist. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing out on the streets, eh?” His breath washed over me, smelling like rancid oil. I tried to wriggle free, but he pulled me tighter and his grimy hand gripped my face. “What’s yer hurry? Wouldn’t you like to—” Whatever the man was about to say next was cut short by Matthew’s fist landing against his jaw.
The man staggered back. In his relapse, I grabbed Matthew’s arm and ran, disappearing into the crowds before the man came to. We darted through several back alleys just to be sure he wasn’t following us, before we slowed our pace and I took stock of where we were.
Fleet Lane. Only one street down from the prison.
Matthew bent over, breathing hard from our run. As he straightened he groaned, cradling his hand. “I hate this,” he ground out. “I hate this weather and all the men eyeing you. I hate running, and these clothes, and my stupid fist, and where is that blasted rotten smell coming from!”
“We’re almost there.” I offered a pitying smile, adding in a softer tone, “Thank you.” For the first time, I was grateful I’d asked Matthew to come. Mrs. Burbank certainly wouldn’t have punched a man to defend me.
Matthew’s answer came in a resigned moan. But I could tell by the steel in his eye that regardless of the pain he felt in his hand, he didn’t regret his actions. After a short reprieve, we continued through the streets until we were standing on Sidney Fortescue’s doorstep. I rapped the knocker four times. I expected it to take some minutes before he came to the door, as it had when I’d visited with William, but the door swung open nearly as soon as I finished knocking.
Mr. Fortescue stood in the doorway, dressed in a different outfit than before—simple clothes, but they were clean and new. His jaw was freshly shaven and his eyes alert, no sign of his being intoxicated.
A neat crease formed between his brows as he sized Matthew up, but when his gaze sidled to me, his expression cleared. “Eliza.” From the corner of my eye, Matthew frowned. I wondered if he was getting ready to use his other fist. Mr. Fortescue shook his head. “That is, Miss Wycliffe. I was not expecting to see you. Ever.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Fortescue, but there is some
thing I wished to give you.”
Mr. Fortescue glanced over his shoulder, looking at something I couldn’t see, before widening the door opening to let us in. We stepped over the threshold and into the small space. I removed my cap as I looked around.
Everything was gone. There hadn’t been much furniture in the place to begin with, but now it was completely bare, without a wardrobe, bed, sideboard, or any of the bottles that had before littered the floor. The dusty planks creaked as I went further into the room. Once I finished my assessment, I noticed Mr. Fortescue still waiting expectantly near the door.
I fished the coins out of my coat. Ten guineas, enough to last him several months. Putting the coins into his hand, I stepped back, nervous at his reaction. He didn’t drop them in anger as I assumed he would, only stared at his open hand, confused, before glancing up.
“Sir William Bentley has left the country,” I explained. My throat started to clog, so I cleared it. “I don’t know when he shall return, but I do know he did not abandon you on purpose. This should see you by until he gets back.” I left off the hidden meaning in my words, the real reason I had come—it was my fault William had left. I’d driven him away, in more ways than one, and Mr. Fortescue shouldn’t be forced to pay the price.
A few days after William’s departure I’d realized there was no one to bring Mr. Fortescue his medicine. I’d felt horrid at the thought. I couldn’t bear it. Since I didn’t know where to purchase the medicine, money seemed the only thing. And, since I didn’t know how long William would be gone—if indeed he would ever return—I decided a relatively modest sum would be best.
Mr. Fortescue stared at me with surprise at my kindness, but I wished he wouldn’t. I had brought the money purely to clear my conscience. Matthew held still in the corner, silently watching the exchange.
Mr. Fortescue took a step forward.
I held up a hand. “Before you refuse, I want to say that I believe William would want you to have this money, no matter where it came from.”
“Beg pardon, Miss Wycliffe, but I daresay he wouldn’t.” Mr. Fortescue returned the coins to my hand. His head tipped to indicate our surroundings. “I’ve been released. Finally had a sober enough mind to find a turn of good luck. I only came back to fetch a hidden stash of medicine, and was just on my way out the door when you knocked.”
My jaw dropped. “You—you’ve been released?” That explained the empty house. After another moment I added, “You hide your medicine?”
Mr. Fortescue grimaced. “It fetches a high price around here.”
My mind drifted to all the coughing people we’d passed on the streets, people living in unsanitary, mud-coated conditions, before I focused back on Mr. Fortescue. Not everyone in such dire circumstances was fortunate enough to have a friend like William.
I pushed the thought away, refusing to go down that road.
If Mr. Fortescue didn’t need my money, then this excursion had been a waste of time. “I thank you for the thought,” he added. “Not many people would come down here just to give me this.”
I nodded in acknowledgement. “And where will you go?”
“Someone’s paid my debt. To work it off, I’ve been hired at the man’s estate. Just until I get back on my feet. Perhaps then I might be in a position to get Andrew away from Allerton.”
I froze, blood going cold, a knife slicing into my gut. The world tilted. “. . . Allerton? The Duke of Allerton?”
He nodded. “The same.”
Every nerve ending pulsed with denial. “And why would you want to get Andrew Radcliff away from him?”
His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked between me and Matthew for the longest time. At last, he said slowly, “He is Andrew’s uncle, the man who’s knowingly neglecting him. Their relation has been kept secret around the ton, but I confessed the truth to Bentley a fortnight ago, after he told me of your engagement. I assumed he told you.”
From his corner, I heard Matthew swear under his breath. My stomach twisted painfully.
Eliza, if it is marriage you want, I will give it to you. Call it off with him, and I will be anything you want me to be.
William had been trying to protect me, one last time. Knowing what he did, he’d decided to offer himself instead of telling me the truth. For he’d known that it didn’t matter what he said about Allerton—true or not, mask or not, I would never believe him. And I hadn’t.
My eyes darted forth along the wood planks of the floor. Mr. Fortescue continued. “The boy’s been kept under lock and key at that school ever since Allerton’s sister died. Even though Andrew is the duke’s heir, he’s treated as little more than a beggar.”
“Is John aware of the boy’s treatment?”
Mr. Fortescue’s frame tautened. After walking away, he braced an arm against the mantelpiece whose hearth sat cold and gloomy. “Miss Wycliffe, I’ve watched him read a detailed account of the boy’s daily life sent by the headmaster himself, I’ve written to the duke to relay my own experience at the school on several occasions, and have personally seen him interact with the boy. I can assure you, Allerton knows.”
Mr. Fortescue seemed in earnest. I still suspected Lady Iris’ claims about Allerton were false, but in this matter, doubt rooted in my mind. Kind John, the man who had held me during a carriage ride to comfort me after the loss of William—cruel to his nephew? It was hard to picture.
To call off an engagement was a scandal of the greatest proportions, and I had no other promises of marriage to fall back on, at a time when Mama declined rapidly. I couldn’t justify any hasty action unless I was absolutely certain.
“I need proof,” I said, almost to myself. Allerton was gone on a business trip, and wouldn’t be back until tonight. If we hurried, I could visit his townhouse and be gone before he returned.
Matthew seemed to realize this and jolted out of his lax stance. “Eliza, are you mad?”
“We must go there.”
“Now?”
My hands clenched at my sides. “Yes, now. I need to know, and if we fail to hurry, we shall lose our opportunity.” I turned back to Mr. Fortescue. “Thank you, sir, for telling me what you did.”
He nodded. “I wish you the best of luck.”
I made my way to the door, Matthew at my heels. As Matthew rearranged his scarf, I turned back to Mr. Fortescue at the last moment. “There is one more thing I should like to know, though you may be offended at my asking.”
He waited patiently.
I took a big breath before I lost the nerve. “This man who got you back on your feet . . .”
Mr. Fortescue leveled me with his stare. “I am sworn by him not to reveal his identity. But I am surprised at you, Miss Wycliffe, if you do not already know.”
I swallowed, throat suddenly thick. “I thought so.” Then before the tears had a chance to surface I turned back and said, “Come, Matthew. We have one more stop to make.”
Chapter 25
Allerton’s townhouse was the most opulent I’d ever seen. Rows of cased stone windows and second-story pillars plastered the front of the imposing house fenced in by a courtyard. The sight of it made my hands shake.
“This is a bad idea,” Matthew murmured.
Lips pressing in a firm line, I ascended the stony steps and used the knocker. Matthew trailed behind, and we waited a few moments before the door swung open to reveal a butler.
“Good day. I am Miss Eliza Wycliffe, and this is my brother, Mr. Wycliffe.” Satisfaction filled me at seeing the servant’s eyes widen. He knew I was Allerton’s intended. Good. Then he took in my dress, noting the dull, grey clothing, brow crinkling. I certainly didn’t look like a duke’s fiancé. Trying to compensate, I stood a little taller and took on a commanding tone when I said, “I am here to request an audience with His Grace’s steward.”
The butler bowed. “Of course, ma’am.” He showed us in and seated us on a bench in the foyer, then left to go find the steward.
Matthew glanced around the r
oom, no doubt taking in the square motif tile, the gilded mirrors and sconces, and pillar-encased doorways. “This is a bad idea,” he said again.
“Hush,” I said, trying to smother the flame of anxiety that had lit in my gut. He wasn’t helping to settle my nerves with all his useless comments.
“The steward isn’t going to help us.”
My fists scrunched the fabric of my dress at my knees. “Perhaps not. But I must try. If I don’t find out the truth today, I—” I cut off as the butler returned with the steward.
The man possessed a peppered, receding hairline, a pointy chin, and the craftiest gaze I’d ever seen. I had to steel myself not to squirm when it fixed upon me, and instead forced a smile.
He came and bowed before me. “Miss Wycliffe. This is indeed a surprise, as I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” The way he spoke had a methodical, calculated air about it. When he straightened he took in my appearance, one haughty brow arched high on his forehead.
I raised my chin. “I do apologize, Mister . . .?”
“Mosely,” he supplied with a little narrowing of his eyes.
I suppressed a gulp. “I do apologize, Mr. Mosely, but His Grace wrote to me and asked that I—erm, that Mr. Wycliffe—stop by today and look at his ledger.” As soon as I finished, Matthew coughed into his fist, a message that I had said the wrong thing.
Mr. Mosely frowned, eyes thinning further. “A boy, look at his accounts?” His gaze swung between us. “To what end?”
I cleared my throat, bolstering enough courage to act like the duchess I was about to become. Jutting my chin even higher, I said, “His Grace values my brother’s opinions rather highly. And, Mr. Mosley, I fail to see how you are in a position to deny the duke’s request, however odd they may strike you.”
His jaw cranked back and forth. “Forgive me, Miss Wycliffe.” His tone was anything but apologetic. “But as His Grace’s steward, nothing short of a direct command uttered from his lips could compel me to disclose his ledgers to anyone. His Grace did not inform me of your coming. And in fact, I can think of no reason he would allow such persons,” a bite entered his voice, “access to his records.”
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 23