She stood. “It seems we have nothing more to say to each other.”
Daniel took his time rising. “It appears we do not.” He looked down at her from his height. “I am searching for Miss Moore. If you discover her whereabouts, Mrs. Broughton, or her fate, I would appreciate it if you would send word to Ashton House. You have my card. Thank you for your time, madame. A good day to you.” He gave a stiff bow and strode out.
* * *
Daniel stood in front of Crewkerne’s townhouse and stared grimly at the door. The knocker had been removed.
He located the lad he had left watching the house. The boy said the earl himself hadn’t made an appearance, but his servants had closed up the house.
Daniel went down to the kitchen entrance and banged on the door till a disgruntled footman answered.
The servant claimed the earl had left town.
While Parliament was in session, and with the Season in full swing.
Fear and frustration seethed through Daniel.
Chapter 10
Two days before April 24, 1817
Miss Dowding’s illness had become a lingering influenza. A few of the Magdalens had also succumbed, but the majority were healthy, and the well-attended 59th Anniversary Meeting of the Governors, celebrating the founding of the hospital, continued as planned. The Lord Bishop of Gloucester gave the sermon, and all the governors and many of the subscribers of the Hospital were in attendance.
They needed an organist. Eliza played. The Magdalens sang well, those with pitch carrying the tunes louder than those without.
But governors, unlike the regular Sunday congregations, felt an ownership of the hospital. They did not stay back behind screens, or off of the grounds. Made up of anyone rich enough to pay twenty guineas to the hospital, they were much more numerous, and much less discreet, then the committee.
After the service as she played the postlude, gentlemen and ladies came to congratulate the choir on its performance, to admire the penitent Magdalens in the dull-colored but tidy uniforms that their funds had contributed to.
Eliza sat at the organ in one of the uniforms of a Magdalen—a low-waisted, unfashionable gown of a design that had little changed in fifty years.
She was noticed. A Magdalen who could play the organ with skill was a rare thing indeed. Quite remarkable.
As she rose from the bench, she saw the light of recognition in Mrs. Wettin-Herbert’s eyes. And that grand lady was not the only one who recognized her. Several in view were persons Eliza had been acquainted with in her former life.
Eliza’s jaw tightened. This was a disaster.
She suffered their compliments, curtseyed to them, and left as soon as possible, feeling their speculative gazes on her back.
Before today she had managed to avoid those paying tourists of the upper ton who’d arranged a tour of the facilities. Today she met them everywhere.
Eliza fled to the organist’s private practice room and shut the door against every prying eye.
She was discovered. All London would soon know her whereabouts.
Including Lord Crewkerne.
Chapter 11
One day before April 24, 1817
Daniel heard a cry. He sat up and blinked groggily. He was in his bed at Ashton House. The cry became a wail and tapered into a whine. He pulled his banyon over his nightshirt, stuffed his bare feet into his slippers, padded out from his room, and down two doors to Florentia’s.
“What’s all this?”
His younger sister was in a dressing gown, her hair tied in curling ribbons, a hairdresser hovering behind her. Her cage-like court hoops waited on the bed, and her monstrosity of a white court dress—with pink rose embellishments and a multitude of frills—hung near. Plumes of ostrich feathers fluffed on the table.
“Cancelled! It’s cancelled!”
“What’s cancelled?” He blinked blurrily.
A note fluttered in their stepmother’s hands. “It is most distressing.”
“It’s a horror! A horror!” Florentia wailed.
“What is this, Florentia? You are upsetting the household.” Frederick’s deep voice cut through Florentia’s noise. She stopped short.
Frederick, the second Marquess of Kentworth, stood in the doorway behind Daniel, his light hair and his cravat perfectly arranged despite the early hour, wearing his blue embroidered silk banyan drawn over his shirtsleeves. Daniel moved out of the doorway to allow the Most Honourable marquess adequate room to glare down at their sister.
Frederick narrowed his pale eyes at Florentia, and his mouth tightened into a line. He was as tall as Daniel but built on slimmer lines. His cold, commanding stare had been perfected in childhood to put any unfortunate he disapproved of into their place. He gave Florentia the full force of it.
“Oh, Frederick, it is . . .” she hiccupped, “. . .most distressing.”
“This arrived a few minutes ago from St. James.” The marchioness handed the letter to her stepson. “The queen is indisposed this morning, and her Drawing Room has been postponed.”
Frederick took it from her and read through the note, ignoring Florentia’s moans and sniffles. “Most unfortunate.”
“Are you not relieved, Florentia?” Daniel asked. “You’re spared today.”
“No!” She glared at him. “I’ve been up since five preparing! I wanted to get it over with! Now, it will hang over me like a pall until they set a new date. Oh, Stepmama, may I please just never get presented?”
“You are a marquess’s daughter, Lady Florentia,” Frederick said in clipped tones. “You shall be presented to the queen, as is your duty and your right.”
“I know! But it fills me with terror!” she wailed.
“Darling, you’ll do wonderfully,” their stepmother soothed. “And think, now you have more time to practice.”
“I didn’t want more time to practice!”
“Calm yourself, Florentia,” Frederick ordered, his look cold and commanding. “Your concern should be over the ill health of the queen, not your own inconvenience. I want no more excessive displays.”
She hiccupped. “Yes, Frederick.”
He nodded. “As our event for the day has been canceled, we must make new plans. What would you wish to do today, Florentia? I am at your disposal.”
“Really, Frederick?” Florentia’s face transformed, a bright smile removing the rainy cloud that had overshadowed her. “Will you ride with us in Hyde Park? And visit Gunthers for ices?”
“Very well. This afternoon, we shall.”
“Hurrah!” She clapped her hands.
“And Almack’s this evening, as previously planned.”
“Thank you, Frederick!”
He nodded and retreated from her room. Daniel followed and turned the opposite direction, hoping to avoid his brother’s notice.
“Daniel, a word.”
Daniel grimaced. No such luck. He followed his brother’s gesture. They entered Daniel’s room. Frederick shut the door and turned to face him.
“Do you intend to speak to me about the rumors that have reached me of your activities?”
“I didn’t intend to, no.” Daniel avoided his gaze.
Frederick let silence lengthen between them. Daniel shifted uncomfortably.
His brother remained impassive, his face unreadable. It was his customary expression.
Daniel squared his shoulders, prepared for a fight, and glared. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Frederick spoke before Daniel’s words escaped.
“Did you think I would disapprove?” Frederick’s expression did not change.
Daniel stepped back in surprise. “You don’t?” Daniel stared at the austere eyes of his elder brother. He caught a slight softening in their chill depths.
“I know what she meant to you before. And how it was my fault that you were not able to pursue her then.” He looked away, his gaze hardening.
“It wasn’t your fault!” Daniel protested.
“Nevertheless.” F
rederick turned back to him and looked him steadily in the eye. “Tell me of your plans. I will assist where I can.”
Relief washed over Daniel. Having his formidable brother on his side would ease so many things.
* * *
“Daniel! You’re finally home!” Florentia raced down the stairs, almost tripping over herself to reach him. “We have such news! I’ve been waiting ever so long for you to get here!”
He sat on an entryway chair, sagging with fatigue. He rubbed his aching eyes and tense neck. His heart was raw with worry and frustration. Despair ate at his edges.
Despite Frederick’s added connections, they had hit dead-end after dead-end.
His only comfort was that no women of Miss Moore’s description had been found dead in the month since she’d been turned from her cousin’s home.
How would he ever find her?
He should go up to his room and change. He must do his duty and attend Almack’s with Florentia this evening. He chafed against the lost time. But what could he do other than stalk the clubs and hells yet another evening?
His fingers itched for his pencils, and the quiet calm that only time with his sketchbook would grant him. But drawing one more inadequate attempt at Miss Moore’s likeness would not find her, would not make her safe.
He stood, every muscle protesting, as Florentia reached him.
“What news, Florentia?” He blinked, his vision blurry from exhaustion.
“She’s been found!”
“Miss Moore?” Too many leads had come up false for his emotions to stir at this pronouncement.
“Yes! Mrs. Clifford visited with her daughters today, and they had heard from Lady Wallings, who’d heard it from Mrs. Wettin-Herbert herself, that Mrs. Wettin-Herbert spotted Miss Moore at the special anniversary meeting yesterday. The organist was sick you see, so she substituted. And Mrs. Herbert is a governor and she attends every year. She was so surprised to spot Miss Moore at the organ.”
Daniel grabbed her by the shoulders, his heart racing, his exhaustion gone. “Where? Where is she?”
“At the Magdalen House.”
“The Magdalen—?”
“The Magdalen Hospital, Daniel, where prostitutes and fallen girls go when they want to stop being fallen. That’s how Stepmother described it, at least. The queen is the head patron there, and the princesses. So that is where Miss Moore went when she was thrown from her cousins. The Magdalen Hospital took her in, and there she has been this entire time!”
She was safe. He felt the blood drain from his head, and he swayed.
“But she’s discovered now. I wonder if something will happen?”
“Florentia, she’s safe.”
“She must be, yes. But to join the Magdalens and all the ruined girls, it’s amazing.” Florentia continued to babble, but his ears no longer heard her. He sat abruptly, the relief coursing through him overwhelming his limbs.
She was alive. She was safe.
He covered his face with his hands and took deep breaths.
How had he not thought to check the Magdalen House?
He hadn’t, because ladies did not go there. But vulnerable women did, and Eliza had been vulnerable and alone.
But no more. He would protect her, offer his protection. His love, his care, his everything.
“Daniel, Daniel!” Florentia’s young voice finally broke through his ringing relief. “Are you listening to me?”
He grabbed her hands and pulled her down into the chair next to him. “Oof!” She plopped down.
“Thank you so much for this news, Florentia. I cannot tell you how relieved I feel, how much my heart is lighter. Are there any more details? How long has she been there? Does all of London know except for me?”
Chapter 12
April 24, 1817
Eliza ran her fingers over the worn keys in a practice scale. She played through arpeggios and other exercises, increasing the speed as her fingers loosened and limbered. This was her personal practice time, and she blessed Mr. Prince for arranging it. The small practice room was cozy, the pianoforte small, and the range of keys not as extensive as the organ in the Magdalen chapel, but still adequate for practice, with the added benefit of not needing someone to pump bellows.
As Eliza raced through her exercises, she revelled in the sound. The pianoforte was old—the wood scarred and the ivory chipped— but perfectly in tune.
She had ensured that. She had taught herself the skill after Mrs. Boughton had economized by not keeping the Arne Park instrument in tune. Eliza had obtained a spanner and pliers and learned the trick of it. A few careful tightenings and she could bring any pianoforte she played back into perfect pitch once again.
It was a good skill for a pianoforte mistress to have.
That was the plan she had formulated for how she would support herself in her future: teach pianoforte to those who wished to learn and could pay. If she could only get far from London, far from the Ton—perhaps Scotland or even Paris—then she would be able to make her way.
Perhaps she could find a sponsor among the governors after she had stayed long enough at the Home, to get her away from here and settled.
Eliza pulled out the sheet music for the hymn the Magdalen choir was currently learning and began her practice in earnest: Purcell’s ‘Remember not, Lord, our offences.’
Would Miss Dowding still be sick for this week’s services as well? Eliza enjoyed playing for the choir and at the Magdalen’s private services.
She began a postlude, the last of the music for that day’s sermon. With its completion, she felt adequately prepared for today and tomorrow’s devotionals.
Eliza allowed herself the indulgence of pulling out the music she had purchased with her birthday money that fateful day when she had been thrust out onto the cold street.
Staring at the precious sheets of music, she bit down on her lip in worry. Surely Lord Crewkerne would not try anything? Surely she was safe within the walls of the Magdalen House from one such as him? Its goals were anathema to his interests.
She shook her head and pushed away her fears. Should she play the Bach and allow the soft, beautiful melancholy of the piece to soothe her? Or allow Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca from Sonata No. 11, fun and lively, to brighten her spirits? Or did she need the Beethoven to rain down thunder around her, and help her work out her frustrations?
She only allowed herself the indulgence of playing one piece from her personal collection each day. She’d gladly spend all her time at the pianoforte and never rejoin the other inmates at their productive duties, but that would be the height of ingratitude.
She began the Mozart. She needed cheer in her life.
A knock came at the door.
“Eliza, excuse the interruption.” Miss Smith, one of the assistant matrons, entered the small practice room. “A gentleman, a lord, has been requesting to see you, and he is being most insistent.” Her face pinched with an expression of disapproval.
“A lord!” Eliza’s heart leapt into her throat and began a furious pounding. Crewkerne was here. She would not see him, no! He couldn’t get her here. Fear raced through her.
She stood with shaking knees from the bench and faced Miss Smith. Eliza clenched her hands before her, the laundry-scalded skin twinging with pain.
Miss Smith eyed Eliza’s face and seemed to soften.
“A great large fellow. An officer.”
Eliza blinked. Lord Crewkerne wasn’t a large man, nor an officer.
“He claims to be an old friend. We told him to request a meeting with you by letter through the treasurer and matron, but he is most impatient. We asked him what his intentions were, and he said he is here to offer marriage to you, and would we please let him see you.”
“Offer!” Her stomach lurched. It could not be Lord Crewkerne, and that realization sent a euphoria of relief through her. But who could it be? What man could be offering marriage to her?
“He gave his card. Here.”
Eliza reached
out with trembling fingers, her throat tight. She read the inscription.
Captain Lord Daniel Ashton
“Oh!” She blinked down at it, her mind in a stupor of surprise. “Lord Daniel Ashton. His family has long been acquainted with mine, yes. Brother to the Marquess of Kentworth. But I have not seen him in years. I . . .”
The last time she had seen the Dowager Marchioness of Kentworth and her daughters had been at Eliza’s mother’s funeral three years before.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Lord Daniel. He had been on the Continent for most of the years she and her mother had lived at Lyon Manor.
Lord Daniel . . .
Vague memories tumbled. They’d shared a few dances at country balls. He’d drawn her once. That memory stood out. She had still been a girl in the schoolroom and had never before been stared at with such intensity. She remembered blushing under his scrutiny. Later he had gifted her with the drawing, a fair portrait. She still had it in a trunk. . . Or her cousin had it. Eliza had never sent for her things, preferring her location to remain a secret. Though the safety of secrecy was now lost.
“You say . . . he’s here to ask for my hand in marriage?” What was this absurdity?
“So he says.”
“I don’t understand. I’ve scarcely seen him in years. He never . . . he didn’t pursue anything before . . .” He hadn’t been one of the officers who had danced attendance on her the Season of her come-out, though she vaguely remembered he had been in London that spring.
“Are you willing to speak with him? Not alone of course, we do not do that. Well chaperoned. But we are quite happy to send him away if you do not wish to see him.”
Eliza wrung her fingers together, twisting and tightening them. “I . . . I scarcely know.” This was unexpected. She swallowed, not knowing how to feel.
He was of good family. His stepmother was graciousness itself. His elder brother the marquess was intimidating, but she knew no ill of him. His eldest sister Cassandra was eccentric, and they had few interests in common, but their acquaintance had never been unfriendly. He had other, younger siblings Eliza did not know well. But Lord Daniel himself . . .
Beneath Spring's Rain (Ashton Brides Book 1) Page 5