One Night in London

by Caroline Linden

  Good heavens, what did Edward mean by this outing to Greenwich?

  She finally chose her sapphire blue riding habit, in case he meant for them to ride, and went downstairs. Mrs. Hotchkiss met her at the bottom of the stairs and held out a note.

  “This is just come for you, madam. May I say you look very well this morning?”

  Francesca smiled at her housekeeper. In spite of her furious wonderings, she did feel very well, with hope and nervous anticipation fluttering inside her chest. “Thank you. I’ll be going out today.”

  “Shall I have Mr. Hotchkiss bring the carriage?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I shall be going with Lord Edward.” The older woman nodded without blinking an eye and bustled out to bring breakfast.

  Francesca opened the note at the table. Sally Ludlow wrote that she hadn’t seen or heard from Alconbury since the scene in the theater a few nights before and she was worried. She asked, tactfully, if Francesca had any idea what might have happened. Her postscript belied any true concern, though, as it begged her to be kind to Alconbury when next she saw him, and remember that he really did love her.

  She sighed. Everyone was so quick to assure her one man was in love with her, just as they assured her the other man was not and never could be. How much easier things would be if her feelings had fixed on the man who loved her. Or rather, if the man her feelings had fixed on was the man who most assuredly loved her.

  Alconbury, she knew, would be fine. The day after Edward had joined her in the Ludlows’ theater box, Alconbury sent her a lovely little posy of daisies. Apologies for last night—wishing you every happiness, the card read, signed only with his swooping initial. She hadn’t seen him since. Whether that was because she had been so often with Edward, or because Alconbury was avoiding her, she couldn’t say.

  She quietly folded Sally’s note. She was fortunate to have such friends. She hadn’t seen the Ludlows, either, since that night at the theater; they moved in different circles than Edward. Since he had begun squiring her around, she hadn’t seen any of her usual companions, in fact. She hated to think that she must give up her friends to be with him, or that she must keep the two separate. It was another obstacle she didn’t feel like facing, not yet.

  She expected Edward might need a while to make his preparation, so it was a happy surprise when she heard the jangle of harness and the creak of a coach outside just an hour after she finished breakfast. She flew up the stairs to retrieve her hat and was just starting back down when the knocker sounded, a hard, rapid pounding. Mrs. Hotchkiss, already on her way to the door, hurried forward to answer it.

  “Where is Lady Gordon?” Edward surged through the doorway and almost grabbed Mrs. Hotchkiss. “I must speak to her at once!”

  “I’m here,” she said, startled. “What is it?”

  He looked up at her, his face breaking into a fierce smile. “Jackson has found Georgina.”

  Francesca’s knees gave out at the unexpected response. Georgina . . . She had been so caught up in thoughts about her own situation, she hadn’t even thought of her niece today. The guilt hit her at the same moment relief did. She collapsed with a thump on the stairs, still clutching her hat. “Where?” she whispered. “Where is she?”

  He strode past Mrs. Hotchkiss and took the stairs two at a time until he reached her. “Bethnal Green.”

  All the way on the other side of London, but still close enough. She nodded, unable to speak. Thank the blessed Lord Ellen hadn’t taken Georgina far away; that had been her deepest fear, and now that it was put to rest, she said a swift prayer of thanks. She would have her niece back in a matter of hours.

  Edward cupped her cheek in his hand. “You look about to faint—Mrs. Hotchkiss, bring some sherry.”

  “No.” She wrapped her trembling fingers around his wrist. “I’m fine. I’m going this instant to fetch her.”

  “Of course. My carriage is outside.” He helped her up, and they went down the stairs.

  “Have you really found her?” asked Mrs. Hotchkiss anxiously as Francesca tied on her bonnet. Francesca nodded, too overcome to speak. The housekeeper exclaimed in delight, and shooed her out the door when Edward opened it. “Godspeed,” she cried. “Bring back the young miss as soon as you’re able! And sir, oh, God bless you, my lord!”

  She felt overcome as they hurried into the carriage and Edward told his driver where to go. “I cannot wait to see her again,” she said softly when he was beside her and they were on their way. “She’s the sweetest child, Edward. I’ve missed her so desperately.”

  “I know.” He pulled her into the circle of his arm. “Does she look like you?”

  “No, she’s the image of her mother. Giuliana took after our mother, while I inherited my father’s coloring. Georgina has dark hair and fair skin like Giuliana did.” She smiled. “Even when Georgina was an infant, my sister despaired that she’d gotten our mother’s nose as well. I could see no sign of it, but she grows so quickly. I wonder how much she will have changed since last I saw her?”

  “You’ll soon find out,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.

  “I know. I can hardly believe it . . .” Her voice failed her as she thought of how she had almost despaired of ever seeing this day. And without Edward, she might still be waging her quixotic battle to secure a solicitor.

  “And it is all thanks to you,” she went on as tears sprang into her eyes. They were tears of elation, but Edward pressed a handkerchief into her hand. “I cannot thank you enough, Edward, for all you’ve done—for helping me, and comforting me, and your sage counsel—”

  “My part was a small one,” he said. “It was your determination that mattered.”

  “Indeed.” She laughed weakly and wiped the tears away. “My determination won nothing until it got the better of me and I invaded your house to rail at you about Wittiers.”

  “You are too harsh on yourself.”

  “I was frantic with worry. Ellen had just vanished, and I had no idea—the neighbor told me Georgina looked thin.” She turned to him in alarm. “Did the investigator say how she looked? Is she well? Is she hurt? If Ellen’s mistreated her, I swear I’ll call the constables on her!”

  “He said she looked well,” said Edward in a soothing voice. “There’s no cause to worry about that yet.”

  “I don’t think I can offer her money if she’s been beastly to Georgina,” Francesca went on. “Even unintentionally. Why, it’s surely abuse to keep a child in squalor when she has relations who would gladly care for her!”

  “Jackson said nothing of squalor. Don’t leap to conclusions.”

  “I am not leaping to conclusions,” she exclaimed. “I’m trying to prepare myself for what we might find.”

  Edward shook his head. “But are you prepared for what you must do?”

  “Of course! We talked several times about it—I even agreed to bribe Ellen to return her to me.”

  He gave her a look of admonition. “That may not be the most tactful way to put it.”

  Francesca flipped one hand impatiently. “Of course I wouldn’t call it such to her face.”

  “Then what will you say?” He put up one hand as she scowled and opened her mouth to respond. “Remember that if you offend her, she may refuse just to spite you, even if the arrangement you offer is entirely in her favor.”

  Yes, that seemed very possible. Francesca closed her eyes for a moment and struggled to control her feverish impatience. “Very well. What should I do?”

  “Stop assuming the worst.” She pressed her lips together. Edward held up one hand, his expression set and determined. “Also, most importantly, you must not act as if you want this more than anything.”

  She cringed. “Impossible.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “You’re perfectly capable. When you brought Sloan’s paper to my home and offered to procure a retraction, you managed to be cold and practical.”

  She glared at him. “I was not! My palms were damp and I was biting
my tongue the entire time.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “But I knew you wouldn’t help me if I lost my temper again,” she admitted through her teeth.

  “Not true,” he said, to her surprise. “I wanted that retraction very badly. Never underestimate your opponent’s desires. But you offered a fair bargain, one I had no choice but to consider, and then you let me realize that. For all I knew, you might have had a list of other men you planned to approach with the same request, and if I’d said no, you would have walked away.”

  She frowned. “But that won’t work with Ellen. She has the one thing I want—Georgina—and she knows it. If she refuses, I can hardly approach someone else with the same offer.”

  “Very true, but you must approach her as if you want to strike this bargain with her. Your other course of action is to go to the court, which would be very expensive for both of you. Each of you stands a roughly equal chance of losing, which would mean bearing the expense as well as losing the child and her income. Tell her you want to avoid that, to benefit you and her alike. Show some compassion, even if you must feign every ounce of it, for her circumstances.”

  “I have tried to, really I have—and I do feel some sympathy for her. But you didn’t see Georgina as I last did, teary-eyed and unhappy, begging me to take her home with me. You didn’t hear Percival shouting that he would call the watch on me if I didn’t get out at once. You didn’t hear Ellen declare that she would never give up Georgina—” She stopped, breathing hard.

  “Have you any idea how I longed to plant my fist in Gregory Sloan’s face?” he asked, a hard twist to his mouth. “Or barring that, to sue him into penury? And you asked me to sit calmly by and listen to you charm him.”

  She inhaled deeply, seeing his meaning. “A performance.”

  “Precisely. Nothing more, nothing less.” He took her hand in his and held it as they left the heart of London, as the busy streets and tall buildings gave way to narrower roads and scattered houses. Bethnal Green was a quieter town, hardly a town at all to Francesca’s eyes. It seemed an eternity, but finally the carriage stopped before a small cottage, set back from the road in a large garden. The whole coach swayed as the footmen jumped down, and Francesca straightened her spine, mentally preparing her script.

  Edward glanced at her as his servant opened the door. “Are you ready?”

  “One thing,” she said. “Will you keep Percival out of the way, if he’s there? I believe he encourages the worst in Ellen’s behavior toward me, and I confess I despise him as much as he does me.”

  “Of course.”

  She grasped his hand as joy and nerves made her heart thud. He helped her down, and together they went through the gate into the garden. Belatedly, Francesca realized there were more footmen than usual in the Durham livery; two had jumped down from the back of the carriage and another had climbed down from the box. The driver had tied his reins and was watching everything with unusual alertness, and she just caught the gleam of a pistol barrel on the seat beside him. She glanced up at Edward, whose face had settled into austere, almost autocratic lines, the hauteur of a man who would not, could not be denied. It was like advancing on the enemy with a small army at her back.

  There was no way Ellen could thwart her now.

  A small black dog came running to meet them and ran circles around them, yipping loudly. Before they reached the front door a woman opened it.

  In the split second before recognition dawned on her face, Ellen Haywood appeared almost friendly. She looked rather well, to Francesca’s mild surprise, no longer thin and worn but with some color in her face and her blond hair neatly coiffed. But the minute she met Francesca’s eyes, that color faded from her face and she moved to slam the door.

  “Mrs. Haywood.” Edward had gotten his hand on the door before she could close it, and now pressed it inexorably open. “A moment of your time, please.”

  “How do you do, Ellen?” asked Francesca. Now that she was face-to-face with her nemesis, her nerves vanished, fading into icy calm. This was the moment she had been waiting for, and with Edward—and his tall, muscular footmen—close at hand, she felt rather invincible. “May I introduce my friend? Lord Edward de Lacey, this is Mrs. Ellen Haywood.” Dismay filled Ellen’s face as Edward bowed his head. “May we come in?”

  Ellen stared at her, panic in her eyes. “How did you find me?”

  Francesca lifted her eyebrows. “Were you hiding?”

  The other woman’s blush was confession enough. Edward had kept her from closing the door, and now she reluctantly stepped back. “Come in, then,” she said bitterly. “I suppose I have no choice.”

  No one replied to that. Francesca caught the subtle signal Edward made to his servants, who silently slipped off through the garden. One remained by the door. Ellen noticed them as well, from the way her eyes darted from the footmen to Francesca and Edward. Visibly tense, she gestured toward the parlor, a neat but somewhat shabby room.

  “Why are you here?” Ellen blurted out as soon as Francesca seated herself.

  “I would like to see my niece,” Francesca replied tranquilly. “Is that too much to ask?”

  Her calm demeanor seemed to unnerve Ellen even more. Her wide eyes flew to the door and back, as if she expected someone else at any moment. Francesca prayed it was Georgina, and only kept her seat with great effort.

  “Georgie’s not here,” Ellen finally said. “She’s out.”

  “I will wait.” Francesca drew off her gloves and settled in her seat more comfortably. “In fact, I’m glad she’s not here. I wished to discuss something with you privately.”

  Ellen’s face burned. Her skin was already somewhat browned, as if she spent her days outdoors. “No.”

  Francesca paused. “No?”

  “No, you won’t take her.” Ellen raised her chin, her eyes flashing despite the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  For a moment Francesca regarded her. Ellen was clearly braced for another screaming row, not for her to be calm and reasonable. Francesca knew she had only herself to blame, for losing her temper before, but now she had the benefit of hindsight and resolve, to say nothing of Edward’s practical advice. “How difficult this year must have been for you,” she said sympathetically. “How are your sons?”

  Confusion flashed across the other woman’s expression. “Very well.”

  Francesca nodded. She could almost feel Edward’s approval, bolstering her restraint, encouraging her onward. “They must be quite a pair now, if they have John’s looks and temper.”

  “They do,” said Ellen slowly. “Both are the image of their father.” Maternal pride was showing through her suspicion.

  She smiled a little. “Then they’re fortunate boys. John was always one of the most amiable men I knew. And they must have grown so much! They were just creeping around the floor when last I saw them.”

  Ellen fidgeted with the edge of her apron. Her wary eyes darted to Edward again. “They’re walking now.”

  “Children grow so quickly,” Francesca said. “I was amazed by how rapidly Georgina changed from week to week, even as an infant.” She paused as a real swell of emotion constricted her throat. “No doubt I shall hardly recognize her now.”

  The color fled from Ellen’s face. “You won’t take her,” she said again, her voice rising. “I won’t allow it! How can you even ask such a thing?”

  Francesca’s fingers were numb from clenching so hard as she clung to her calm with every bit of strength she possessed. “It was her father’s wish that I raise her, in the event of his death,” she reminded Ellen. “My sister would want her only child to grow up with family. I have loved Georgina since the day she was born as if she were my own daughter, the child I was never blessed with in my own marriage.”

  “I don’t care,” said Ellen, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry you never had a child, but you can’t take mine.”

  “She’s not your child, though, is she?” said Francesca before she could stop her
self. Edward, who had been silent so far, stirred beside her. She bit her tongue and forced her temper aside as she gentled her tone again. “But you have two sons, young boys who need you very much. Someday you’ll want to send them to school, or to learn a trade. I want to help you provide for them.”

  “No, you don’t,” Ellen cried. “You just want to take Georgie!”

  “I do want to take her, to raise her as her father, your husband, wanted her to be raised. My first thought was to hire a solicitor, to petition the court on my behalf.” Ellen looked horror-struck. “I believe I would prevail,” Francesca went on, evenly but firmly. “I’m well able to take care of a child. Her mother was my sister, and her father agreed I should take her, as Georgina’s nearest blood relation and godmother. And I love her every bit as deeply as a mother could. But solicitors don’t work for free, and such a course would be hard on your family as well as on me. It occurred to me there might be a more beneficial way to solve our differences.”

  Ellen shook her head. Tears winked in her eyes.

  “I was prepared to spend a great deal of money on a solicitor and court costs. But that would only benefit the solicitor. A widowed mother with two infant sons would have a far greater need for the money,” Francesca said softly. “I know Georgina’s inheritance provides an annual maintenance for her care, which you would lose if she left your household. I understand your position, truly. And I’m proposing we both benefit: I will raise Georgina, and in return I will give you the two thousand pounds I would have spent filing petitions in the Court of Orphans.”

  She had considered the amount carefully. Georgina’s allowance was one hundred pounds per annum, which meant one thousand pounds over the next decade she might be expected to live with Ellen. Francesca didn’t think it would be persuasive enough to offer merely to replace that amount; there was no clear benefit to Ellen in that. But Ellen had two young sons. The income from two thousand pounds, invested wisely, would replace that hundred pounds a year indefinitely and still leave the principal intact for schooling or an inheritance for the boys. It was a great deal of money, enough that Francesca knew she would feel the pinch of losing it, and she was all but holding her breath as she waited for Ellen’s response.