by Dawn Brower
“Go bugger off,” Reese grumbled.
“That bad, was it?”
Damn it all. Getting rid of Westham could be a chore any given night, but now the damned bastard was relentless. “Daniel,” he said rather sharply. “I’m not in the mood to discuss Miss Beckett or anything else with you tonight.”
His friend’s blue eyes rounded in surprise, then he sobered a bit. “Are you all right?’
But before Reese could reply to that, Arch Atherton strode in through the front door, looking uncharacteristically frazzled, and right behind him was Lord Michael Beck. What the devil?
Reese sat a little straighter in his chair. What in the world was Atherton doing with Lord Michael? Shouldn’t the tradesman be spending the next few hours with his brother-in-law instead of gallivanting about Town with Reese’s second?
The two of them nodded quickly at Reese and Westham before they made a direct path to meet them.
“Well,” Reese began, glancing from Atherton to Lord Michael and back. “You’re an odd pairing.”
“I insisted on speaking with you,” Lord Michael said as he assumed the spot beside Reese.
“I will not withdraw my challenge if that’s what you’ve come for.” Reese snorted, then glared at Atherton out of the corner of his eye. He was the one who should have dealt with whatever this was about. He was Reese’s second, for God’s sake.
“No, no, of course not,” Lord Michael replied. “And if I was in your spot, I wouldn’t do so either. Just in the interest of fairness, I didn’t think Mr. Atherton should have to inform you of our current situation by himself.”
“Current situation?” Reese turned his full attention on his friend. “What is our current situation, Atherton?”
His friend winced slightly and then said, “It appears Chopwell has hopped a packet ship across the channel this morning and will not be back in time to meet you at the appointed hour.”
“A packet ship?” Reese echoed as he deflated against the back of his overstuffed chair. How had that even happened?
“Did you call Chopwell out?” Westham asked, concern lacing his voice.
Damn it all. Reese had completely forgotten the jackass was even there. Just as soon as Lord Michael had begun speaking, his focus had been completely on the matter at hand. “It’s none of your concern.”
“The devil if it isn’t,” Westham growled slightly.
The tone in the man’s voice was so completely different than his usual devil-may-care timbre that Reese couldn’t help but frown at his friend. “I beg your pardon.”
Westham shook his head in disgust. “He…Well, he did something truly awful to someone I care a great deal about, something I didn’t learn about until quite some time later.” He scrubbed his hand across his brow as though he was trying to erase some awful memory from his mind. “My first instinct was to track him down and put a bullet in his skull, but…Well, the lady in question begged me not to. She insisted that my doing so would make everything worse. And though that went against every fiber in my being, she’d endured so much, I couldn’t bring myself to go against her wishes.”
“Good God,” Lord Michael breathed out.
Reese turned an accusatory glare on the man. “How can you be surprised? You’re his friend.”
“Hardly friends.” Lord Michael looked aghast at the suggestion. “Our wives are sisters, but that is as far as our connection goes.” Then he shook his head as he continued, “I have no idea why he named me as his second, but as he did, I performed my duty with the hope that your success on the field would free my sister-in-law from a life spent with the blackguard.”
Atherton nodded toward Lord Michael and said, “Chopwell sent a note to him this evening.”
Lord Michael heaved as sigh as he retrieved a piece of folded up foolscap from his jacket pocket. “Apparently, he instructed his footman not to deliver this to Ivyworth House until well after he was already gone.” Then he handed the note to Reese.
That damned coward. Reese unfolded the foolscap and read it twice for good measure.
Michael,
I find myself in the position of being in your debt. As the hour has grown closer, I have decided that facing Darling would not be conducive to my health. So, I have secured passage across the Channel to France. I do believe the warmer climes will do wonders for my lungs.
I am certain that in my absence, you will see to Ophelia and our son.
My best to you and Ivy,
John
Chopwell had abandoned his wife and child so that he could flee to France on his own? Reese shook his head in disgust. Coward was too good a word for the fiend. After what he’d done to Cara, Reese had been quite determined to see the man in his grave. The fact that he’d managed to slip through Reese’s fingers before Cara could be avenged was beyond frustrating. It didn’t even seem possible that he’d managed to do so.
Gentlemen were honor bound when they accepted a challenge. Gentlemen were honor bound when their offers of marriages were accepted. What the devil was happening with the gentlemen of London these days? Was no one’s word worth a damn anymore? Chopwell, Ballantyne, and how many others were cut from the same cloth?
“What do you want to do?” Lord Michael asked, breaking Reese from his thoughts.
He re-focused on the tradesman and blew out a breath. “I want to see the man dead.” And maybe that would help him get the image of a bloodied and bruised Cara out of his mind.
“Here, here,” Westham agreed. “And long overdue.”
“Something my wife has wished for since the moment he married her sister.” Lord Michael heaved a sigh of his own. “Never in a million years would I have ever thought he’d have done something like this. If I’d had even an inkling that he’d thought to escape England, I would have brought it to your attention right away, Darling.”
And Reese would have been quite happy to board that particular packet ship and drag Chopwell off it by his ears.
“Well,” Atherton began softly, “short of traveling to France to seek him out…”
Reese was not going to travel to godforsaken France. Cara should return from Hadleigh tomorrow and even though she had no desire to see him, he wasn’t about to leave her to the wolves of London. “Should he ever return to England, I want to be notified at once.”
“I offer my word that I’ll inform you as quickly as possible should such a occurrence ever take place.”
But with the number of dishonorable gentlemen milling about Town these days, who knew if Lord Michael’s word was worth a damn shilling. “I will hold you to that.”
“I’d expect no less.” Lord Michael pushed out of his seat and tipped his beaver in Reese’s direction. “As it is, I’ve promised to meet my wife at the Lynwoods’ ball this evening. So, unless you need me for something else…”
Reese shook his head. “Please offer Lady Ivy my regards.” Then he signaled a footman for a whisky, which was sure to be the first of many he’d throw back tonight.
Chapter 13
DAY SIX
The Earl of Darling’s Set of Rooms, Albany Bachelor Lodgings
Piccadilly, Mayfair
God in heaven! The pounding in Reese’s head seemed to echo throughout his set of rooms. He shouldn’t have had that last whisky. It was always the last one that caused problems the next morning. He reached for a pillow to cover his head when…
“For God’s sake, Darling, open the damn door!” sounded from the main corridor. “Peters, where the devil are you?”
Lucien?
Reese sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“Come on, Darling. I know you’re in there!”
Oh, for the love of God. Reese slid from his bed and winced as the room spun slightly around him.
More pounding which was probably from Lucien’s knocking and not Reese’s head came a second later.
“Gates, you’d better be on fire,” he grumbled.
And then the pounding stopped. “Open the damn doo
r.”
Reese stumbled through his chamber and into the receiving room. “Just a moment.” He made his way to the front door and opened it to find his friend looking rather irate. His face was flush, his eyes were narrowed and there was a tightness to his jaw that wasn’t usually there.
“Where’s Peters?” Lucien demanded.
Peters, Reese’s loyal servant. “His mother’s sick in Dorset, not that it’s any of your concern.”
“My concern at the moment is for Cara Beckett.” Lucien used the tip of his cane to open the door wider and then he hobbled into Reese’s set of rooms.
Hearing Cara’s name was like blade to his heart, and Reese closed his eyes as though that would block out the pain. It didn’t work. “Is she all right?”
“Hardly,” Lucien growled.
Well, what the devil did that mean? Reese opened his eyes again to pin his friend with a stare. “What’s wrong with her?”
Lucien snorted. “Where shall I begin? A twisted wrist. Terrified of Chopwell. And suffering a broken heart. As you’re responsible for that last one…”
Reese scoffed which sent a sharp pain to his head. “She told me she was done with me.”
“And I told you to be careful with her. She’s been through enough over the last year.” His friend shook his head. “Even after her father, even after Captain Barnes, she had a purpose. She packed her things and headed here, determined to do what was necessary for her and her sisters…”
“She’s a brave girl,” Reese conceded.
“She’s a shell of herself right now.”
Well, Chopwell had certainly shaken her. Any girl would be the same considering the circumstances. Still, Reese would never forget the look of terror he’d seen in her eyes that night. “I am sorry.”
“You should be,” Lucien continued. “When she learned you’d left Essex I thought she might crumble to ash right there.”
Crumble to ash? When had Lucien become overly dramatic? Reese shook his head. “She said she was done with me.”
His friend gaped at him. “For a fellow who thinks he can figure out any woman with enough time, Darling, you’re a goddamned idiot where the fairer sex is concerned.”
Well, that was hardly complimentary. “What the devil does that mean?”
“It means, you fool, that for some unknown reason the girl does care for you. And when she discovered you’d challenged Chopwell, she was nearly shaking with fear – for you.” Lucien looked him over. “You seem to be in one piece. Have you met him yet? Did you put a ball in him?”
“Coward fled to France,” Reese replied, though his mind was on Cara instead of Chopwell. Had she really been worried for him? Had she really been upset that he’d left Essex? A tiny bit of hope burgeoned in his heart. “Is she…is she in Town?”
Lucien shook his head. “I left before anyone else awoke this morning. That Atherton girl is beyond frustrating.”
On that they could agree. Especially as Miss Atherton had been the one to fill Cara’s head with all sorts of unfortunate truths. The memory of Cara yelling at Reese in Essex - of her telling him that he was the same as Chopwell, of her saying he’d used her for sport and that she was done with him – flashed in his mind. And shame washed over him anew. Why had he ever agreed to such a ridiculous wager? “I hope Miss Beckett will have the success in parliament that she’s looking for.”
Lucien stared at him as though he was a forked tongue serpent, which was exactly what he felt like. “You’re not going to see her?”
“She doesn’t want to see me.”
“I’ve been by her side the last few days, and I beg to differ.”
Of course, Lucien was a damned romantic and would be predisposed to believing something of that sort. But Reese was a realist and he couldn’t afford to pin his hopes on Lucien’s fanciful outlook on life, especially as he knew Cara didn’t want to have anything else to do with him. He shook his head. “You weren’t there, Luce. You didn’t hear what she said. You didn’t see the conviction in her eyes.” And, honestly, Reese would really rather not remember it himself.
A few hours later…
Hythe House, Mayfair
After a few hours from Hadleigh to London in an Atherton carriage, Cara said her goodbyes to Emma as they arrived at Hythe House. Her friend promised to call soon and Cara nodded in agreement before the footman helped her descend the traveling coach.
For a moment, she glanced up at the impressive, ducal home before her and she wondered if the world would ever make sense again. She didn’t quite feel like the same girl she was before she left Hythe House for Hadleigh, and that was a sobering thought as she began to ascend the front stoop.
The ducal butler promptly greeted her as he opened the door. “Miss Beckett, Her Grace is in the front parlor if you’d like to see her.”
And in that moment, there was nothing else Cara wanted more than to see the duchess. Her Grace had been like a grandmother nearly all her life, and she needed someone who genuinely loved her to soothe away everything that had happened while she was away. “Thank you,” she said softly as Poole shut the door behind her and she started toward the front parlor.
However, as she reached the parlor, a number of voices drifted into the corridor, making it quite obvious the duchess was not alone. Cara heaved a sigh as the last thing she wanted was to feign a smile for anyone and pretend that everything was fine. Odds were she wouldn’t be able to pull that off even if she gave it her best effort, not today in any event.
It would just be better if she just went up to her chambers and refocused on why she’d come to England in the first place. She hadn’t come to meet handsome earls or to attend village fairs. She’d come to help Beckett Salt and the interests of the Bermudian salt trade. And determining how to best accomplish that goal while she was in Town should be her main focus, even if she’d done a very poor job of it up until now.
With that thought in mind, Cara made her way to her chambers and sat down at her small writing desk, resolute to do better than she had thus far. The Duke of Hythe was going to host a dinner party within a sennight with a number of powerful Tories. So if she…
A knock sounded at Cara’s door and she glanced up as she said, “Yes?”
“Cara?” the duchess called to her. “May I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Cara pushed back to her feet.
Her Grace opened the door and breezed into Cara’s chambers. “Poole said you’d returned.” She smiled, and her kind blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “How was the fair? Did you make any good connections? Tell me everything.”
“I thought you had company?”
“Posh.” Her Grace dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “I sent them away. I’m much more interested in hearing everything that happened while you were away.”
But Cara had nothing good to tell the duchess, and the truth of that made her lip quiver before she burst into a pool of tears. The older woman quickly crossed the floor and enveloped Cara in her arms, soothing her and promising that everything would be all right.
But nothing was all right. Nothing at all. Cara told her about Lord Chopwell’s attack, she told her about Captain Ballantyne’s duplicity and how he’d tossed Cait away like she was nothing, and she told her about Reese abandoning her in Essex after he learned that she knew about his wager. And the duel. She told Her Grace how afraid she was for Reese even though he had no affection for her.
The duchess said very little. She’d led Cara to the edge of her bed where they both sat, and she simply listened to everything that spilled from Cara’s lips. Then she very calmly said, “My sweet girl.” She brushed the tears from Cara’s cheeks as she continued, “Did you really fall in love with Darling?”
Cara gulped. She’d asked herself that question before and had been quite certain she hadn’t done so. Only an idiot would fall in love with a man intent on playing her for a fool. Even so, a tiny voice inside of her said that she might have done that very thing. “I—I don�
�t know,” she hedged.
The duchess cast her a pitying smile, and Cara was quite certain the older woman could see right through her no matter what she said. “I have a feeling everything will turn out as it should.”
Cara didn’t have that feeling at all, and the look she sent Her Grace must have said as much because the duchess’ brow lifted slightly in surprise.
Then she tucked one of Cara’s curls behind her ear and added, “Just leave everything to me, my dear.”
But that did not sound like the best idea. Everything had gone so poorly, any more interference on any front was bound to make things worse.
“Now don’t look so skeptical. I’ve been navigating the ton for longer than you’ve been alive and I know it better than most. So let me fix everything, all right? I promise I’ll make it better.”
“How?” Cara asked, stepping back to see her father’s old friend. She adored the duchess, but there was nothing Her Grace could actually do, was there?
“You just let me worry about that, my darling girl. I’ll take care of everything.”
And Cara wanted to believe that the duchess could work miracles, she wanted to believe that more than she wanted her next breath. So she agreed with a nod of her head and she offered a very shaking sounding, “Thank you.”
Margaret Hythe left Cara’s chamber more determined and focused than she’d been in a very long time. And angry. If she ever got her hands on that loathsome Chopwell...
However, going down that particular road right now wouldn’t help either her or Cara. Since there were quite a number of things she needed to do in order to make things right for Bernard’s oldest daughter, Margaret needed to remain focused on the matter at hand. She made a direct path down the steps and right toward the front foyer.
Upon seeing her butler, she said, “Poole, please do send for Agnes Folksworth, Harriet Upwell and Edith Hedleyhope at once. It is urgent.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” her servant replied.