Baleful Godmother Historical Romance Series Volume One

by Emily Larkin

  Letty hastened after him. “Reid,” she said in a desperate whisper, tugging at his arm. “Please.”

  Reid didn’t try to break her hold again. He turned and practically bundled her back to the secret doorway. “Down,” he said, his hand between her shoulder blades.

  They descended the staircase in hasty silence. Letty’s thoughts tumbled over themselves. Lucas and Tom? Tom and Lucas? At the bottom, she opened the door and stumbled out into daylight. The horses stood where they’d left them. Letty stared at them. Shock rang in her ears. Lucas and Tom?

  Reid caught her by the shoulder. “You did not see that,” he said fiercely.

  Letty stared at him, unable to speak. Tom and Lucas?

  “Do you hear me?” Reid shook her. “You did not see that. You are not going to tell anyone about it.”

  Letty swallowed. “Of course I won’t tell anyone!”

  Reid released her and turned away. He strode to her horse and cupped his hands. “Mount.”

  Letty obeyed, putting her boot in his hands, letting him fling her up into the saddle. Reid swung up onto his chestnut. He looked extraordinarily grim, grimmer than she’d yet seen him.

  They rode from the folly at a quiet trot. When they’d gone a hundred yards, Reid picked up the pace, keeping them at a canter all the way to the avenue of oaks. There, he slowed again. Letty came up alongside him. “Mr. Reid . . .” Her voice dried in her throat. She had no words to express her confusion, her dismay.

  Reid halted. “If you have any regard for Matlock and your cousin, you’ll forget what you just saw.”

  Letty gazed at him. Shock still rang in her skull. “Are Lucas and Tom . . . ?” She swallowed. “Are they . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to articulate the words.

  “Matlock and your cousin are lovers,” Reid said bluntly. “And if you tell anyone, you’ll ruin them both.”

  “Of course I’m not going to tell anyone! I tried to stop you from finding out.”

  “So you did.” Reid’s expression relaxed fractionally. He gave a short nod.

  Lucas and Tom are lovers? It seemed to Letty that the world had shifted on its axis, that everything had tilted sideways, that she was in danger of losing her balance.

  “Their relationship is their private business and the best thing you can do—for them and for yourself!—is to forget what you saw.” Reid’s eyes held hers. “It didn’t happen.”

  Letty swallowed, and found her voice. “It didn’t happen.”

  Reid gave a curt nod, and nudged his horse into a trot.

  Letty followed, feeling subdued and off-balance.

  * * *

  She didn’t see Tom until evening. He entered the salon where the household gathered for dinner and made his way across to her. “Tish, m’ love,” he said cheerfully. “Did you have a good afternoon?”

  “Yes,” Letty lied. “I went riding with Mr. Reid. He asked me to pass on his regards; he’s leaving Marlborough tomorrow.”

  “Leaving? I’m sorry to have missed him. A good man, Reid.”

  “Yes.” Letty studied his face—an attractive, merry face. Tom Matlock. Earl’s son, artist, soldier. Sodomite? She should feel revulsion, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. She loved Tom as much as she loved Lucas. Tom was family.

  No, it wasn’t revulsion she felt; it was worry. Reid had been correct: one word, and Tom and Lucas would be ruined. They could end up in gaol, or worse, hanged.

  The gong rang for dinner. Soberly, Letty made her way into the dining room. Soberly, she sat. She found Lucas at the long table—almost opposite her—and Tom, three places down from her. She unfolded her napkin and laid it on her lap and watched Lucas look round and locate Tom. The two men exchanged a glance.

  It was the tiniest glance, no more than a second or two, and yet it was as private and intimate as if they’d reached across the table and touched each other’s fingertips.

  Letty stared down at her lap. Her throat felt tight. She swallowed, and smoothed a wrinkle in her napkin. She’d known Lucas and Tom since she was a child. How had she failed to see that they loved each other?

  * * *

  It wasn’t until morning that Letty had a chance to speak with Lucas alone. She captured him in the breakfast parlor. “Come to the library; I need to talk with you.”

  “Sounds ominous,” Lucas said. “Should I be worried?”

  I am.

  Letty closed the door and stood with her back to it, examining Lucas’s face. “How are you?” she asked bluntly.

  “Never been better!” Lucas gave her a cheerful grin, and strolled across to one of the tall windows.

  Letty followed him. “Truthfully, Lucas. How are you?”

  “Never better,” he said firmly. “Do you think it will rain? I hope not. That painting’s still not quite finished.”

  “Lucas, the truth.”

  Lucas glanced at her, his grin still fixed on his face. “I told you—”

  “I can hear when you’re lying.”

  Lucas’s grin congealed into a grimace. He looked away, out the window. After a moment, he said, “So you can still do that trick?”

  It’s not a trick, and I’ll be able to do it the rest of my life. “Yes.”

  Lucas exhaled. The sound was almost a sigh.

  Letty took his hand, interlacing their fingers. I love you, Lucas. “Truthfully . . . how are you?”

  Lucas was silent for a long time. “I’ve been better,” he said finally. “But don’t worry about me, Tish. It takes time, is all.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He gave her a sidelong glance and a wry, affectionate smile. “No, love. But thank you.”

  Letty bit her lip, and then said, “I’m glad Tom’s back.”

  “So am I.” Lucas looked out the window again.

  “Does it help?”

  “It helps a lot.” Lucas gazed out at the bleak winter landscape. Letty saw his lips compress. “I think he’s my savior,” he said, almost sadly, and then he shrugged off his pensive mood and grinned and said, “Or perhaps my ruin.” It was a joke—his flippant tone invited her to laugh—but her ears told her it wasn’t a joke, that he spoke the utter and absolute truth.

  Letty found herself unable to return Lucas’s grin. She remembered the kisses she’d witnessed, remembered the intimate glance she’d observed at the dinner table. Theirs was a perilous relationship. One misstep and they would be each other’s ruin.

  Lucas lost his grin. “Tish, don’t worry about me,” he said firmly. “I’ll be all right.”

  You need to be more careful. Someone might find out.

  Letty bit the tip of her tongue, holding the words back. She nodded, as if she believed him, and released Lucas’s hand.

  Lucas took this as a signal the conversation was over. He turned away from the window. “When are you leaving?”

  “At ten.”

  “I’m going to Cornwall next month.” He crossed the library and held the door open for her. “Tom hasn’t seen Pendarve yet.”

  Letty halted in the doorway.

  Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Tish?”

  “I love you,” Letty told him. “And if there’s ever anything I can do for you—anything—I hope you will tell me.”

  “Of course I will,” Lucas said. “Honestly, Tish, don’t worry about me.”

  Letty hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder for a brief moment, then stepped back. “Be careful!” she said fiercely.

  Lucas blinked. “I’m always careful.” He looked at her, and his brow creased quizzically. “Tish? What’s this about?”

  I know about you and Tom, she wanted to blurt.

  “Nothing. Good-bye!” She smiled brightly and left Lucas standing in the doorway, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  November 19th, 1808

  Bristol

  They reached Bristol shortly after dusk. The Swan was a larger establishment than the Plough, and considerably smarter. T
he bedchambers were well-appointed, the private parlor tasteful rather than cozy, and the meal laid on the table included not only soup, a roasted chicken, and a vegetable pudding, but a dish of tongue with red currant sauce, and a syllabub.

  Letty sat and surveyed the food spread before them, and then lifted her gaze to Reid’s face. He was examining the meal, his expression impassive. After a moment, he looked up.

  In Basingstoke, and during those first days at Whiteoaks, she’d thought she and Reid had almost become friends. The incident at the stream and its aftermath yesterday had altered that. A huge gulf seemed to have grown between them. Reid’s eyes held a warning, as did the set of his jaw. He would not tolerate further discussion of Vimeiro, the creek, the drownings, or his intention to die.

  Letty looked down at her plate. You needn’t worry; I’m not going to repeat myself.

  They ate silently. She hoped he was mulling over what she’d said on the downs, hoped the words had burrowed into his brain, hoped they were making him think.

  “How do we locate Houghton?” she said, when they’d finished eating.

  “He’ll be receiving an out-pension from Chelsea Hospital. That’s a parish matter.”

  “How many parishes are there in Bristol?”

  “At least a dozen, I should think.”

  The landlord, when applied to, was able to sketch a rough map of Bristol and mark thirteen parishes. “There are more, but I can’t bring ’em to mind just now,” he said apologetically.

  Letty studied the sketch. “Which ones might I visit without my husband, and which are in neighborhoods that are . . . insalubrious?”

  The landlord scratched his bald pate, and then leaned over the sheet of paper again. “You’d be quite safe to visit these, ma’am,” he said, jotting down the names of four parishes in the bottommost corner, and then, after a moment’s thought, a fifth.

  “We’ll be faster if we split up,” Letty said, when the landlord had gone. “I shall inquire after Sergeant Houghton at these parishes; they’re perfectly respectable.” She tapped the five jotted names with a fingertip.

  Reid frowned. “Bristol is a city neither of us is familiar with. It seems unwise for you to venture out alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. Eliza will accompany me.”

  Reid examined the sketch. He looked extremely weary. Had he slept last night at all? “It’s not safe.”

  “If you can explore behind enemy lines, then I can surely visit a few churches in an English city,” Letty said tartly.

  He glanced at her.

  “I’ll visit these five, and no more. I won’t take any risks. I shall be a pattern card of prudence and caution.”

  “If you’re certain . . .”

  “I am.” Letty tore off the corner and folded the list in half.

  A flicker of relief crossed Reid’s face. Relief that their search would be prosecuted more swiftly? Or relief that he wouldn’t have her company tomorrow?

  The latter, probably.

  Letty looked down at the table, blinked several times, looked up and smiled. “That’s settled, then,” she said briskly. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll turn in. Good night, Mr. Reid.”

  Again, she saw relief on his face.

  Letty climbed the stairs, clutching the folded list, blinking back tears. Damn Reid. How could he make her cry so easily? She opened the door to her bedchamber. Eliza was there, laying out her nightgown. Candles burned in the sconces and on the bedside table, and a fire burned merrily in the grate.

  Letty summoned a smile. “How cheerful this looks.”

  Eliza helped her out of her gown, unlaced her stays, fetched warm water for her to wash her face and a hot brick for the bed. “I like how your hair is done,” she said shyly, when Letty sat on the stool to have her hair brushed out. “It’s so pretty like this, with the braided bun. It looks . . . it looks regal.”

  Letty found herself laughing. “Regal?” She glanced at herself in the mirror, and sobered. Not regal, and definitely not pretty. An ordinary face. A spinster’s face, or perhaps the face of a governess. Plain and sensible and matter-of-fact. Not a face a man would fall in love with.

  The urge to cry came again. Letty blinked several times. “Ringlets don’t suit me,” she said brusquely.

  “I wish I could dress your hair like this,” Eliza said, unpinning the bun.

  “Practice, if you wish.”

  For the next half hour, Eliza did just that. Her fingers tugged and twisted, she created a braided bun, and then a Psyche knot with braids wound around it. Finally, she brushed out Letty’s hair and replaited it into one single braid. “Is there anything else, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you.”

  * * *

  Reid’s bedchamber wasn’t next to hers, but across the corridor, a circumstance that worried Letty. Would she hear him if he cried out in the night?

  It worried her so much that she found herself unable to sleep. She lay in the dark, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin, her ears straining for the slightest sound. She heard the distant clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones, heard faint, faraway voices, heard the creak of floorboards in the corridor, heard embers shift in the fireplace.

  An hour passed, and a second hour, and she was still awake, still worrying, still straining to hear. Finally, Letty climbed out of bed, unlatched her door, and propped it open with her stool.

  It seemed that she’d only just crawled back into bed when the sound she’d been waiting for came: a faint, barely-heard cry of distress.

  Letty sat bolt upright. Reid was drowning again.

  She threw back the bedclothes and groped for her tinderbox. Candle. Slippers. Shawl.

  At Reid’s door, she hesitated—would he want her help tonight?—and then the choked-off scream came again. Letty shoved open his door. Whether Reid wanted her help or not, he was getting it.

  She strode to the bed, grabbed Reid’s shoulder, and shook it hard. “Icarus! Wake up!”

  Reid jolted awake.

  Letty stepped back as he lunged up from the pillow, his eyes wild, the berserker fury on his face. “Icarus! Stop.”

  Reid’s head jerked back. He blinked, his expression confused—and then understanding flooded his face. He groaned and bowed his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

  Letty wanted to slip an arm around his shoulders and hug him; instead she busied herself with the brandy. The bottle stood on Reid’s dressing table, along with a glass and a teaspoon and the vial of valerian. She blessed Green silently, and poured a generous glass.

  Reid was still sitting hunched over, head bowed, hands to his eyes. His breathing was ragged. Letty laid her hand on the nape of his neck for a moment, offering silent comfort. “Here,” she said. “Brandy.”

  Reid lowered his hands. He didn’t look at her. He took the glass wordlessly.

  Letty closed both their doors while he sipped the brandy, and then looked through the books by his bed. It appeared that he’d finished The Odyssey and started on Herodotus’s Histories—which told her how little he’d slept the past week.

  She kept an eye on Reid. When he’d finished the brandy, she poured a teaspoon of valerian. Again, Reid accepted it wordlessly. She tried to read his expression. Exhaustion, she decided. Physical and emotional exhaustion.

  “Lie down,” she said. “I’ll read for a bit.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I know you dislike me,” Letty said brusquely. “And that you wish me to Jericho, but I’m reading to you—whether you want me to or not!”

  Reid’s gaze shifted fractionally, his eyes met hers for a brief moment, and then he looked away again. He lay back on his pillows.

  Letty sat cross-legged on the very end of his bed. She opened the book to the page Reid had marked and started reading aloud. She concentrated on the text, not on Reid, concentrated on keeping her voice low and calm and not letting any trace of emotion color her tone. She didn’t glance up when she turned that page, or the n
ext one. It wasn’t until she reached the history of Periander of Corinth that she paused and lifted her gaze from the book. Reid was watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, drowsy.

  Letty looked back down at the page. Names caught her eye: Procles, Lycophron.

  “I don’t dislike you,” Reid said.

  Letty glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I don’t dislike you. You make me angry, but I don’t dislike you.”

  Letty’s throat closed. She looked back down at the book, and blinked several times.

  “I know you’re trying to help, but I wish you wouldn’t.” Reid spoke slowly—half-drunk, half-drugged, close to sleep. “I’m dead already, don’t y’ see? Been dead for months.”

  The words were terrible in themselves, but what was far more terrible was the clear bell-tone of truth in them. Reid truly believed he was dead.

  Letty’s gaze jerked to his face. His eyes were fully closed.

  “You’re not dead!” she said sharply, closing the book with a snap. “Do you hear me, Icarus Reid? You’re not dead.” She scrambled down from the foot of his bed and went to lean over him like the nursemaid he’d accused her of being. “You’re only dead if you think you are. It’s in your head! Do you hear me?” She took his shoulder and shook it hard.

  Reid’s eyelids lifted. His silver eyes were drowsy and dilated. He focused slowly on her. A tiny frown creased his brow. “Don’ cry.”

  Letty discovered that she was, tears spilling fast and hot from her eyes. “Damn you, Icarus Reid. You are not dead!” And she leaned down and kissed him, trying to force the words into him. “You’re not! You’re not!”

  Reid’s hand rose and gripped her arm as if to push her away—and then his fingers relaxed, and his mouth relaxed, too, and he kissed her back.

  Letty had never kissed a man properly before. She didn’t know how to kiss a man properly, but somehow that was irrelevant. She pressed her mouth urgently to Reid’s, tears running down her face. Listen to me, Icarus Reid. Hear me. You are not dead.