Falling For The Viscount

by Lana Williams

  Spencer made a mental note to be more careful about what he left on his desk from now on.

  “What are we looking for?” he asked, rubbing his gloved hands together in anticipation.

  Spencer knew Searle wanted in on this particular project with the hope of getting in Gladstone’s good graces. Doing so would give him an advantage as Gladstone certainly had his favorites. Spencer doubted Searle would ever be one of them based on his actions.

  As he didn’t trust the clerk, Spencer decided to share only a minimal amount of information. “We’re interested in finding who’s in charge of groups of prostitutes or trying to recruit the ladies to work in the brothels instead of on the street.”

  Searle scoffed. “How can you tell? There are men all over the place.”

  “Most of those men are hiring the women for their personal needs.”

  “How do you know the difference?”

  Spencer turned to stare at Searle, shocked at the idiocy of his question. “Watch them. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  With a beleaguered sigh, Searle studied the dimly lit street just ahead.

  Spencer gathered his patience. Had he thought himself lonely? He’d take that over any time spent in Searle’s company. The man was inept and annoying, though Spencer had to admit it increased his own confidence when he compared himself to how little Searle knew. Maybe he had better instincts than he realized.

  “What about that one?” Searle asked, pointing to where a man chatted with one of the ladies. “He’s been talking to her for several minutes now.”

  Spencer watched the pair, the knowledge that the man wasn’t Charlie Pruett putting Spencer at an advantage. “Nothing but the usual business going on there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Some men prefer a bit of conversation to warm things up.” He had learned far more than he cared to about men and their habits before and after sex. He’d become a reluctant voyeur, not that he intended to share that with Searle. The man could learn certain things for himself.

  “I don’t think...” Searle’s voice trailed off as the pair walked away arm in arm. “Humph.”

  Spencer repressed a smile. No point in rubbing it in his face.

  They watched the activities in silence for a time, Searle asking a few questions now and then. The street quieted as the fog thickened.

  “We’ll call it a night,” Spencer advised, more than ready to seek his bed despite the lack of progress.

  “Those were wasted hours,” Searle complained.

  “They often are but one never knows when something of interest will occur.”

  “One should.” The glare Searle cast him nearly made Spencer smile.

  The clerk would soon learn that much of the time spent in the field involved waiting and watching with little of note happening. With luck, the man would decide this business was not for him.

  “Where are you going next time?” Searle asked as they walked out of the area.

  Spencer nearly groaned with dismay. Perhaps he wouldn’t be rid of him so easily after all.

  ~*~

  Dalia smiled brightly as she entered the dining room later that morning for breakfast. Her mother, father, and Holly were already seated. “Good morning.”

  Holly’s plate was heaped with sausage and toast whereas her mother’s held only a coddled egg.

  “Sleep well, dear?” her father asked with a glance at her before returning his attention to the news sheet in his hand.

  “Yes, thank you.” She selected a few things from the sideboard while the footman poured tea.

  “Did you enjoy yourself last evening?” her mother asked before taking a bite.

  “I did. Lovely ball.” Especially since she had convinced Spencer to aid her if necessary. Only a small bit of guilt accompanied the thought. “The Forsythe’s always have interesting guests.”

  Never mind that the only one she could remember was Spencer. The memory of their dance caused a lilt in her stomach. He’d been an excellent partner. And a handsome one.

  “Didn’t I see you dancing with Viscount Rutland? Such a nice young man.”

  Dalia’s stomach tightened. The last thing she wanted was her mother to play matchmaker with the viscount. She’d attempted to do so each time she saw Dalia dancing with anyone she viewed as potential husband material. Dalia detested it. She’d thought that with Lettie and Rose marrying, she’d have some time before her mother urged her to do the same.

  Yet since the day after Rose’s wedding, she’d mentioned one eligible man after another to Dalia. When Dalia had protested, she merely smiled and said, “One can’t wait overlong to find the right man, dear. The good ones go quickly.”

  Dalia refused to believe such nonsense.

  Her father lowered the news sheet. “Isn’t he now the heir?”

  “Yes, he is,” her mother said as she set her teacup on its saucer. “Such a tragedy. Lady Yardford hasn’t been the same since. She rarely attends any functions these days, the poor dear.”

  When her mother shifted her gaze to Dalia once again, Dalia cleared her throat, ready to argue how unsuited they were. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to find all manner of ways to thrust them together.

  But to her surprise, she couldn’t think of a reason. Not after their encounters over the past few days. “He is...nice.” She bit her lip as she waited for her mother to pounce.

  “I don’t think he’d be interested in someone like you.”

  Dalia had opened her mouth to protest whatever suggestion her mother had that would force her to meet with him only to close it, completely confused. “Why ever not?”

  Her mother glanced at her father, but he had retreated behind the news sheet again, whether to avoid the conversation or because he simply hadn’t heard her mother’s remark, she didn’t know.

  Holly held her tongue, eyes wide as she listened avidly.

  “I understand from his mother that he intends to marry a titled lady since he’ll eventually be earl.”

  Dalia processed this information, surprised by it. Marrying a title would’ve been the last thing she’d expect him to do. Such things had never seemed to matter to him. Obviously, she’d been wrong, once again proving she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought.

  “How interesting,” she managed at last. That couldn’t be disappointment she felt. More likely, a bad bit of sausage caused the odd sensation. Her appetite diminished, she set down her fork.

  If her mother had mentioned this news a few days ago, Dalia wouldn’t have bothered to listen. Funny how such a short time could change her feelings on the matter.

  The conversation drifted to other topics, but Dalia couldn’t focus. As quickly as possible, she excused herself and returned to her bedroom.

  She’d just picked up a book to distract her from the unsettling conversation when a knock sounded at the door and Ruth entered.

  “I’m returning your gown, miss. I believe we’ve managed to remove the smell from it as well as your cloak,” she said with a cautious glance at Dalia.

  “Thank you. I can’t imagine what caused it.” Dalia rose to sniff the gown Ruth held. “Much better. Did you suffer the same problem with your attire?”

  “Yes, but adding a bit of lemon juice to the rinse water fixed it.” Her manner cool compared to her normal self, she moved to the wardrobe to put away the gown. “Have you decided what you’ll be wearing this evening?”

  “Not yet.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead. In fact, she had to pause a moment before she remembered where they’d be going.

  “From what Miss Violet said, it sounds like it will be a large gathering.”

  They all seemed the same to Dalia but saying so made her feel ungrateful to have the opportunity to attend such events. That wasn’t the problem. She just wanted to do something different. To be more.

  To not have to worry about what sort of titled lady Spencer might marry.

  She shook her head at the wayward thought.
<
br />   The one item she’d attempted—convincing Ruth to stay away from her cousin—she’d failed at and seemed to have offended Ruth in the process.

  “I’m sorry for giving you such a difficult time with all my questions and comments.” Dalia reached out to squeeze Ruth’s arm, well aware she was to blame for the maid’s reserve. “I only want the best for you.”

  “I appreciate that, miss. I truly do. But I need to decide what that is. Not that I don’t enjoy working for you and your family. I suppose some days my thoughts get away from me, and I wish for something more.”

  Dalia’s heart squeezed at her words. She could certainly relate to that. Who was she to tell Ruth not to wish for something more? “I understand what you’re saying. I just ask that you consider carefully the cost that such a path might take.”

  “I will. That much I can easily promise.” She took a step back. “I had better be going. Mrs. Fairchild has a long list of things she’d like done before this evening.”

  “Of course.”

  Ruth closed the door behind her.

  Dalia knew very well how demanding her mother could be. She hadn’t been aware of the extent of it until Lettie had married Nathaniel.

  Letitia, the only one of her sisters not named after a flower as her mother hadn’t come up with that idea until Rose was born, had been part nanny to all her sisters. No one had understood how much so until she’d left.

  While Dalia now realized how much Lettie had struggled with being different in so many ways from her sisters, Dalia felt a tug of envy.

  Rather than meekly accepting her role in the family, Lettie had forged her own path, taking it upon herself to do something more than aid her sisters in finding husbands. And when she’d found the Seven Curses of London book, an idea had taken hold that she’d pursued.

  She’d hidden her determination from her family, convinced they wouldn’t understand. And she’d been right. Even Dalia had thought her behavior ridiculous when she’d finally found out about all of Lettie’s activities.

  But now that Dalia was enduring another Season of balls and parties, she understood why Lettie had wanted more.

  How ironic that Lettie had longed to be more like her sisters, while Dalia longed to be different. Was this a temporary feeling that would soon pass or something she needed to work through? Could she find an outlet for her restlessness as Lettie had?

  Perhaps a visit with Lettie would help her better understand her own thoughts, as well as take her mind off her mother’s news.

  Chapter Six

  “It appears that at the date above indicated [~1860} there were within the Metropolitan-Police district the enormous number of 8600 prostitutes [in 2825 brothels].”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  “Thank you for taking the time to see me.” Spencer sat in the wingback chair before the fire in Captain Nathaniel Hawke’s library that afternoon.

  “Pleased to do so.” Hawke, formerly of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, settled into the chair beside him. He propped his cane against the chair and rubbed absently at his thigh.

  Spencer knew he’d injured his leg during his time in the service but not the details. The captain’s military bearing and stoic expression didn’t suggest he was willing to share war stories. Rather, he appeared as though he’d taken time out of his busy schedule to speak with Spencer, and Spencer had better get on with the purpose of his visit.

  Warmth from the fire helped chase away the chill that lingered from the night before. The few hours of sleep Spencer had gotten did little to ease his exhaustion. Especially when images of Dalia in his arms stole through his dreams. He wished he felt sharper for this visit with the captain.

  “How is business at the Intelligence Office?” Hawke asked, a wry smile on his face.

  Though few knew of Spencer’s position there, Hawke had become aware of it a few weeks ago when both men, along with the Earl of Aberland, had been involved in stopping a Russian anarchist’s plot to destroy a concert hall.

  “Brisk. Are you certain you haven’t changed your mind about joining us?”

  Aberland had already done his best to convince Hawke to become an agent with the Intelligence Office, but Hawke insisted he could do as much good outside the bounds of a formal position.

  Spencer would’ve liked to work with the captain. He admired his many achievements during his service, though to his knowledge, Hawke never spoke of them. That lack of overt pride made Spencer even more convinced that Hawke was the type of man who could be relied on in any situation.

  “I’m quite happy where I am.” The confidence in the deep timbre of his voice and the intelligence in his blue eyes gave no room for argument. “But I’m pleased to aid you however I can.”

  “I’m certain I don’t need to tell you that all I say must be kept in confidence.” Hawke’s nod of understanding allowed Spencer to continue. “I believe you came across an individual by the name of Jack McCarthy during your pursuit of Jasper Smithby.”

  “Yes, we did. Both are nasty individuals.” Hawke frowned. “Have their actions caught the notice of the Intelligence Office?”

  “Smithby remains in prison, thanks to you and Viscount Frost. But McCarthy has taken advantage of Smithby’s absence on the streets to expand his criminal activities.”

  Hawke shook his head in frustration. “Just when you think you’re making progress...”

  “Exactly. In any event, our office has discovered that, in addition to other criminal acts, McCarthy has become involved with known anarchists and is allegedly supplying them with the items needed to make explosive devices or perhaps making them himself. We’re not sure which. Those acts are what initially brought him to our attention.”

  Hawke shifted in his chair, obviously displeased with the news.

  “While all of McCarthy’s activities are troubling, we are attempting to gather evidence on the worst ones with the hope of convicting him and therefore, putting him out of business.”

  “That sounds like a logical plan. How can I be of assistance?”

  “As you may know, Prime Minister Gladstone has made it his personal mission to end prostitution.” At Hawke’s nod, Spencer continued, “It’s also a big part of McCarthy’s business.”

  “Focusing on that serves two purposes,” Hawke said. “If you disrupt his income, his attention will have to shift to that, which means he has less time to focus on supplying the anarchists.”

  “Exactly,” Spencer confirmed. “I wanted to see if you’d share some of your experience in bringing down Smithby. I know your focus was on the young girls being taken from workhouses, and we believe McCarthy might’ve started doing that as well.”

  “With several workhouses in London and most full to the brim, it’s difficult to watch them all. I found one of the best ways to track them was to offer payment to a reliable individual inside for information on unusual activity or if girls go missing. I continue to have contacts in several of them I can reach out to.”

  “That would be helpful. We’re especially interested in locating a man named Charlie Pruett who works for McCarthy. He’s building McCarthy’s prostitution business and could lead us to the evidence we need to convict both men.”

  They continued the conversation with Hawke advising what he’d learned in his pursuit of Smithby. Locating the headquarters of McCarthy’s business would provide evidence of stolen goods, but as Hawke pointed out, it was difficult to prove they were the ones behind such things. The criminals were adept at covering their tracks, using aliases, moving locations, not to mention bribing or blackmailing some key members of the police force.

  In truth, the task felt overwhelming to Spencer as the captain shared what he and Viscount Frost had done to help put away Smithby.

  Some of his discouragement must’ve shown as Hawke paused to study him. “Putting pressure on a small part of their operation could be enough to change the tides in your favor. While it might sound complicated and difficult to know where to begin, one false ste
p on the part of McCarthy or Pruett will give you what you need to take them off the streets.”

  “To be replaced by another criminal mastermind.” Though Spencer jested, he had to wonder at the truth of his statement.

  “If being a criminal mastermind was simple, everyone would do it,” Hawke said with a smile.

  “True.”

  “You’re making a difference. Have no doubt. You’ll soon see the fruits of your labor.”

  Hawke’s confidence lightened Spencer’s mood. Though he didn’t have the captain’s military experience, he hoped some of his other skills would prove helpful.

  “I’ll alert my contacts at the workhouses and see if any other rumors are circulating on the street. If there’s anything more I can do to assist, please let me know.”

  Spencer stood, not wanting to take up too much of Hawke’s time.

  The men conversed as Hawke walked with him to the foyer, cane in hand.

  Voices from the open drawing room door caught Spencer’s notice, one of them quite familiar. He glanced over to see Dalia staring at him, clearly surprised. That made two of them.

  ~*~

  Dalia rose, her thoughts scrambled at the sight of the man who occupied far too many of her thoughts of late. “Rutland?”

  He glanced at Nathaniel, as though hoping for help from that quarter.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. While he’d mentioned he knew Nathaniel, she couldn’t imagine why he was meeting with him.

  Lettie stood as well. She seemed just as surprised as Dalia to see Spencer in her home.

  When Dalia had mentioned to her mother that she was calling on Lettie, her mother had reminded her yet again that Lettie shouldn’t be told anything that might cause her to worry.

  Dalia had visited with her sister for some time, noting she had never looked better. Her glow of happiness was unmistakable. She frequently held a hand to her slightly protruding stomach as if to comfort the baby, a gesture that made Dalia smile.

  After asking her directly about her health only to have Lettie reassure her that she’d never felt stronger, Dalia had broached the subject of fallen women, carefully watching both her words and Lettie’s reaction. Though Lettie’s concern matched her own, the topic didn’t seem to cause her undue upset other than the outrage Dalia also felt, but Dalia still proceeded cautiously.