by Sophia James
* * *
‘My God, Thorn, who is Miss Smith and where the hell did you find her?’
Shay had arrived back at his town house late that same evening, the moon slight and the night dark.
Lytton leant back in his chair, sending up a plume of smoke from the cheroot before him. Around him his house had settled. Lucy had recovered from her fury over Miss Smith leaving early, retiring on the promise that he would contact her come morning and arrange a further meeting. His mother had departed yesterday for Balmain so that distraction was gone and Susan Castleton had finally ceased to hound him hourly about reigniting the dead flame of their disastrous affair.
All in all it was good to sit and consider his day, quietly.
‘Annabelle Smith is not as she seems,’ he replied. ‘There are secrets that she holds close, but I do not know of them. Yet.’
‘Celeste loved her. She is sending Miss Smith an invite to spend some time with us at Luxford. Do you think she might come?’
‘Probably not.’ Lytton refilled both their glasses. ‘By her own account she seldom leaves the borders of Whitechapel. Even Portman Square was a stretch.’
‘A mystery, then, and one that refuses to unravel?’
‘I think she unravelled completely this morning, don’t you?’
‘Did you accompany her back to Whitechapel?’
‘No, not for a while. I took her on a carriage ride around London until she sobered up. She went to sleep and I waited with her on the far side of Hyde Park. Three hours later we managed to return her home.’
‘It just gets more and more interesting,’ Shay said and began to laugh.
‘What does?’
‘That you should be protecting her as you do. Is she your mistress?’
‘Hell. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think, that is the trouble. She looks like a sultry angel, gets drunk like a sot and speaks two languages, both in the accents of the high born. And yet she resides in Whitechapel? There has to be a story there.’
‘Don’t dig, Shay. I want her to tell me of it herself.’
‘There you go again. Who have you turned into, Thorn? I have never before known you to be so protective of a woman and one you imply you are not even sleeping with. Every unmarried female of the ton would like you to place a wedding ring on their finger and the unhappily married ones would settle for merely a turn in your bed. You have thrown off Mrs Castleton and made a fortune with every investment that you touch, yet here you are...shepherding a secretive seraph around London and keeping her well away from the wolves of society.’
‘Perhaps there is still some slight bit of decency left in me then, after all?’
‘Or perhaps you have finally met your match?’
‘Enough, Shay. Let’s have a drink and talk business. It seems at least then we might agree on the facts that are before us.’
* * *
Hours later when Shay had gone Lytton walked to the window and looked out over the streets of London. He turned towards the east. Miss Belle Smith would be there, stewing medicines and chopping plants, the dog Stanley watching her even as a hundred dangers hung around just outside her door. He wished she were here in Portman Square, safe and warm. He wished her hand still sat next to his own, the touch of her filling up his whole body with joy.
He wanted to gift her with as many pounds as she needed for her ragtag group of patients, but he did not dare to mention it for she didn’t look like a woman who would take well to charity.
She was prickly and wise and innocent and unusual. She was also completely herself. He smiled, liking that assessment more than all the others put together.
He would call in tomorrow to see whether she would deign again to visit his sister, this time with the promise of only that. He sincerely hoped that she might say yes, not so much for Lucy’s sake but for his own.
* * *
Rosemary Greene helped her to strip away the skin from the aloes and pulverise the green squashy middle of the plant for an ointment she had found very effective in the treatment of burns.
‘You seem quiet, Belle?’
‘I had a headache yesterday and I always feel slightly heavy afterwards.’
‘The Earl brought you home in his carriage? Alicia mentioned it and so did every other inhabitant living in this corner of Whitechapel.’
Annabelle decided to be honest. ‘I think I got a little drunk, Rose. He poured me two glasses of wine and I swallowed them quickly. I should not have.’
‘Goodness. Does your aunt know?’
She shook her head. ‘Please don’t tell her of it. It was my fault.’
‘And the Earl, was he honourable?’ A stillness fused into each word.
‘He was. He sat with me in the carriage while I slept and then accompanied me home.’
‘Did he touch you?’
‘Only on the hand. He was by no means offensive.’
Rose returned to the task of wetting the aloe. ‘Men can take advantage of innocence, Belle. They are not always principled. You have to be most careful, especially around gentlemen of wealth for they are the very worst.’
A sudden vision of Lady Lucy being pressured into something she did not want made Annabelle stand up. She needed to go back and talk with the Earl’s sister.
She wondered how she might see her without having to go through the Earl of Thornton. The idea of a letter was the most appealing, but she could not be such a coward.
Stanley was barking again at the front door, an incessant noise reverberating through the house. She loved the small terrier, but sometimes he was a handful and today she just did not feel like listening to such a ruckus.
‘I will put him in with Alicia,’ she told Rose, wiping her hands and then grabbing the dog by his collar. After seeing Stanley banished, she passed the front door again and noticed a shadow glimmering against the small window to one side. Someone was here? A patient? She was not expecting anyone this morning and hoped it was not an emergency.
Opening the door, she found the Earl of Thornton about to knock. He was dressed today in riding clothes and when she peered out she saw another man there holding two horses, his dress much the same.
‘Good morning, Miss Smith. My sister has sent me to your doorstep on the express condition that I ask if there would be a possibility of spending some time just with her tomorrow. She is far better than she was, but is most distressed at missing you yesterday. If I sent the Thornton carriage tomorrow afternoon at two, would that be suitable for you?’
Belle could barely believe he was here as she nodded her head. He had not sent her a written message or dispatched a servant to do his bidding, but had come himself and in full glory at half past ten in the morning?
‘Lucy also bade me tell you that there will be tea and scones. The jam is raspberry from a particularly good batch in Balmain this past summer.’
‘Then I can’t see how I might refuse, your lordship.’
‘You like raspberries?’
‘I do.’
When he smiled the light danced in his eyes and the sun caught the gold of his hair and her breath hitched. There were a number of people on the street outside who watched him, but he did not seem to notice them as he tipped his hat and left. Shutting the door behind him, Belle leaned against it.
His formal visit held the same emotion as yesterday and, standing here in an old apron over an even older gown, she could not understand why. Her hands were still green from the aloe and her hair was roughly bundled into an untidy knot. The visage and clothes of the beautiful Lady Luxford shimmered in her memory, a woman of class and dignity. A woman who would not get drunk in a drawing room in the early hours of the morning and then virtually fall over on her face on the way to the door.
Everything had been simpler before she had met the Thorntons. Her business had been
growing and she had felt a certain pride in what she had achieved. But now...now Lady Lucy’s dreadful secret gnawed at her happiness and the Earl’s very presence rattled her composure.
Thirty-two was not an age to be so very unsettled. She needed to see to the future of the Earl of Thornton’s sister and then never visit either of them again. A loss bloomed at this thought, but she pushed it away quickly as she went inside to help Rose.
* * *
An invitation to the Derwent Ball was one of the most sought-after tickets of the Season. The Earl of Derwent, Patrick Tully, and his wife, Priscilla, always went to such extremes in decorating their salons and the food and music was renowned.
Lytton had come tonight because Edward Tully was a close friend and because he needed some distraction from all that was happening with Lucy. He also needed to stop thinking of Miss Annabelle Smith.
Everyone was there, the crush of success stopping him in his tracks as he filed through the front door in the company of Edward Tully.
‘My God, it gets busier every year, Ed.’
‘My brother will be pleased. He puts a lot into it.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m thinking of heading for the Americas, Thorn, to get away for a while.’
‘And do what?’
‘I could start up one of those canning factories you are always talking of. New York sounds like a big enough city and you’ve already asked me to be a partner.’
‘If you are serious, I’d like you to be involved.’ He turned to look at Edward and realised he looked a lot less than happy.
‘I want more from life, Lytton. I want adventure and surprise. Come with me. We could both do with a break, I think.’
‘I can’t. Not now.’
‘Because of Lucy?’
Lytton shook his head. Lucy was finally making a recovery, but the face of Miss Smith came to mind. He did not want her to be so alone.
‘Hell.’ He swore as he saw Susan Castleton bearing down upon him, forgetting everything except the overriding desperation to escape.
Edward comprehending his unease, shuffled him sideways into a group standing near the door. Albert Tennant-Smythe, Lord Huntington, was one of the men there and Lytton’s ire rose. He had never liked Tennant-Smythe, his brash confidence founded on putting others down. Barely acknowledging him, he felt the anger reciprocated even as Huntington excused himself and left.
Odd that, he thought. Usually the fellow was so much more in your face and he also knew he was interested in becoming a part of his investment in the fruit and vegetable cannery production.
Lady Beatrice Mallory next to him had begun to talk and he leaned down to listen to what she said through all the noise.
‘I saw Lady Luxford yesterday afternoon, my lord, and she said your sister was much recovered.’
‘She is.’
‘It seems you have inveigled the mysterious healer from Whitechapel to visit her and she has conjured up wonders. Lady Luxford was full of her praise. I remember seeing your sister at the Vauxhall Gardens a few months ago in the company of Huntington and his friends and she looked beautiful.’
The first niggle of something not being quite right took him by surprise. Why the hell would Lucy have been with that group, the wild arrogance of a set who took no care of others, concerning him. He had heard no word of such an excursion and he was certain his mother would not have encouraged it.
Nothing tonight was allowing him comfort. In honesty all he wanted was to be back in his carriage, ferrying a sleeping Miss Smith around the quieter roads of London and feeling the warmth of her hand against his own. That thought worried him, too. Was he going as mad as his mother? He took a glass of brandy offered by a passing footman and drank it quickly. He needed oblivion and he needed it fast. It had been a long time since he had been truly drunk, but tonight even the thought of it helped.
* * *
An hour later he found himself at the card tables, Albert Tennant-Smythe opposite him.
‘The stakes are high, Thornton, but I hear you are well heeled these days so it should not bother you.’
‘What are you putting on the table?’
‘An Arabian thoroughbred.’
‘Your horse?’
‘My grandmother’s.’
‘She’ll be happy to lose it?’
‘Deal the cards, Thornton, and spit up the money if you are man enough.’
It was almost too easy to win and even with a good deal of brandy under his belt Lytton wondered at the method of the others’ card counting.
Within twenty moments he had an IOU for the steed and there was a crowd of interested onlookers around them. Albert Tennant-Smythe looked furious and it was only the good sense of the Derwents to have provided hired muscle in the card rooms that saved a fight. Three burly boxers escorted Huntington from the house, his howls demanding another round drowned by the laughter of those in the room.
‘You want to lose every other horse you don’t own as well?’
‘We will see what your grandmother might have to say about that.’
‘This loss will be a thorn in Huntington’s side, mark my words.’
Lady Huntington, the Dowager Countess, was known for her steel hand in trying to give guidance to progeny without moral integrity and Albert was the only grandchild still living.
Personally Lytton thought the ending of a family line with so little going for it might be a good thing and pitied any bride who would attach all her hopes to a man who’d probably never live up to them.
Lady Beatrice Mallory’s words were also in the mix. Why the hell would Lucy have been in Tennant-Smythe’s company? Tomorrow he would ask her and offer his advice to stay well away from a troublemaker for whom he held no liking.
He would see what else he could find out about Huntington in the meantime, who his friends were and what was the structure of his family ties. There was the grandmother, of course, but were there others, too, who it might be wise to understand more about.
Lytton had always trusted his instincts and he had a bad feeling about the Earl.
* * *
Belle took Lucy’s hand and stroked her fingers, a plate of scones and a cup of tea beside her.
‘You need to talk to your brother about your condition. You need his help.’
‘Why? If I tell him everything, Thorn will insist on marriage and there is no way at all that I would ever want that.’
‘Did he hurt you physically when...?’ She could not go on.
‘No. I went with him willingly because I thought he was dashing, I suppose, until I really knew what he was like and by then it was too late.’
‘You said that he was years older than you are and as such he should have known better. Would you want me to talk to him?’
‘I don’t know. Would he listen?’
‘I’d make him.’
Lucy began to laugh. ‘How?’
‘Let me think about that. I won’t do anything at all until I speak to you. Would that be something you would be happy with?’ Putting out her hand, Belle was glad when the young girl placed her own within it.
‘Don’t say anything to Thorn, though. I need to get a bit stronger before I can deal with all of this yet and the last year and a half has not been an easy one for our family.’
‘What of your sister? Prudence, is it?’
‘She is in Rome with her husband. She is also eight years older than I am and hasn’t much time to listen to my opinions.’
‘And your mother?’
‘You saw what she is like. Papa’s death has changed her and she is bitter now. Poor Thorn has had to deal with all of that as well as an errant younger brother and a bankrupt Earldom. He won back our country seat in a game of cards just before our father died. Did you know that?’
‘From whom?’
‘I am not certain as he has never talked of it and it would be poor form to mention it anywhere else. My brother has the Midas touch in business though, and lately has been turning preserved food into gold.’
‘Preserved food?’
‘He has one big canning factory not far from London with more popping up all across England. Most everyone can afford a can of preserves and that is where the money lies.’
Belle could hear those exact words coming from the Earl of Thornton’s lips.
‘He will marry soon, though, and I suppose to a wife who won’t like us. She will be beautiful and cold and well born and then Thorn will become distant and we will all have to move out.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because that is what happens in families of the ton and ours is falling apart at the seams. What bride would truly want to deal with us?’ She straightened the bedcover as she said this, smoothing the quilt down. ‘There are many in society who would vie for his hand. I’ve had to listen to small confessions from women about their penchant for my brother for months now. There is one woman, Lady Catherine Dromorne, whom people are touting as the next Countess. Our families are friends.’
Belle looked around Lucy’s room. The decor was beautiful and tasteful and expensive. Every single bit of this house screamed money, from the manicured gardens to the tiled roof top. Nothing looked old or scuffed or mediocre. The Earl’s Countess would presumably be exactly the same, a woman of refinement and breeding and pride.
The exact opposite of her.
‘He left his mistress, Mrs Castleton, just recently, but she has been hounding him to come back.’
Annabelle hardly knew what to say to this.
‘Lady Catherine has been a particular friend of his for a long while and Mama always imagined they might marry, but...’
When Lucy tailed off Belle felt regret. There was no one else in her world who could tell her anything of Lord Thornton’s personal affairs and all Lucy’s revelations were eye openers. When she had talked of her seduction by a man nearly twice her age it was all that Belle could do to hold in the anger she trembled with. Lord Huntington would get his dues, she promised, for there were many in Whitechapel who would jump at the chance to go with her to visit him. Big men, rough men. A threat would be enough, she was sure. Not to force him to marry Lucy, that was the last thing she wanted, but to get him to apologise. There was a healing in an apology and a properly felt and expressed one would go a long way in allowing Lady Lucy to move on with her life. She hoped he might cry a little, this despicable Lord. A well-aimed punch to the stomach would probably elicit some tears, but it could be nothing that showed. Lady Lucy needed to believe in his repentance even if she herself never would.