What Happens in Piccadilly

by Bowlin, Chasity

  “I have no choice but to heed the call, Miss Darrow. I’d say it is exactly the same,” he replied. “To what do I owe the honor? If you’re expecting an apology for what transpired at our last meeting, I won’t offer it. I’d just as soon cut out my own tongue.”

  Recalling just how skillfully he’d kissed her with the appendage offered up as sacrifice, Effie thought that would be a terrible waste. But she wouldn’t encourage him by saying so. Instead, Effie cast a quelling glance in his direction. “Despite your supreme arrogance and conceit, my invitation has nothing to do with the new complexities of our very old acquaintance. It’s about Calliope and the Earl of Montgomery.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Highcliff replied, “He’s perfectly acceptable. I couldn’t find a shred of dirt about him. His business dealings are above board. He doesn’t wager heavily, nor drink heavily. He doesn’t frequent bawdy houses and hasn’t maintained a regular mistress for years. The man is practically a monk by society’s standards. If there’s anything about him untoward, he’s managed to be the soul of discretion… and I always find the dirt, Effie, no matter how well hidden it is.”

  “This is more about Calliope than about him, I suppose… the earl has inadvertently discovered her parentage and it could very well put her in danger.”

  “Well, all he has to do is keep it a secret,” Highcliff sneered. “Problem solved.”

  “Unfortunately, that cat is out of the proverbial bag thanks to a gentleman of the earl’s acquaintance by the name of Charles Burney.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Not fit for your ears,” he answered. “Burney is trouble… trouble of the worst sort.”

  “What sort is that?”

  “The desperate sort. To say his pockets are to let is an overstatement. They’re no longer even his pockets,” Highcliff replied. “Desperate men are dangerous men.”

  It was something she knew well. The past few months, it seemed one or another of her girls was always in some sort of jeopardy. “Then you should accompany me on my next errand, Lord Highcliff.”

  “What sort of errand?”

  “We’re going to speak with Madame de Beauchamps. It seems she may have known Calliope’s mother long ago.”

  Effie dropped a few coins on the table and rose. Walking out of the coffee house, she waited until he exited a few moments after her. When she was certain he was following, she made her way along the Arcade to the entrance to Madame de Beauchamps’ shop. As she opened the door and stepped inside, a bell tinkled above the door. The woman in question came out to greet her.

  “Miss Darrow! How good it is to see you! It has been some time. Are you in need of a new gown?” the shopkeeper and most fashionable modiste in London asked with a beaming smile.

  “No, Madame, not today,” Effie said. The bell tinkled again, signifying that Highcliff had entered. “But is there a place where you and I—and my friend—might speak privately?”

  The shopkeeper looked askance at them both, but nodded. “For you, Miss Darrow, certainly. If you will follow me, I have a small, private parlor in back.”

  Through the rabbit warren of bolts of cloth and half-made dresses, they followed the dressmaker until they emerged at the entrance to a small room. It was windowless, but decorated with light colors and well-lit by gas lamps and strategically placed mirrors that amplified the light. A settee and armchair richly upholstered in the palest shade of pink occupied the space along with small, delicate wooden tables.

  “It’s quite lovely,” Effie said.

  “Thank you, Miss Darrow. I do enjoy having lovely things and I am very lucky that my business has grown enough that I can now indulge myself. This is my refuge here at the shop when I need to rest. Now, please, do tell me to what I owe the pleasure of your visit.”

  Effie didn’t hesitate, but simply dove in. “There was a young woman in here yesterday morning… she had two young girls with her, wards of their uncle, the Earl of Montgomery.”

  “Yes,” Madame de Beauchamps exclaimed. “I remember her because she seemed so terribly familiar to me, yet I could not place her. As I get older, my memory gets worse by the day!”

  Effie nodded and then looked back at Highcliff who was watching the exchange with a false air of boredom. “Well, perhaps when I utter this name, your confusion on the matter will clear up… Mademoiselle Veronique Delaine.”

  Madame de Beauchamps gasped. One hand flew to her mouth and the other to her heart as she stared at them wide-eyed. “Oh, I can’t believe I did not see it! But the young woman… not that she wasn’t lovely—of a certain, she was!—she did not make as much of her beauty. She dressed so modestly and attempted to disguise her prettiness, I think! But the resemblance is there and now… well, I cannot believe I was so blind.”

  “Do not take on so, Madame,” Effie said. “Miss St. James does make every effort to minimize her rather striking appearance. It is something that I have cautioned all of my students to do when they begin working.”

  “St. James? Is she not Averston’s child then? Veronique was so wildly in love with him, I cannot imagine that she would have ever betrayed him and had a child with another!” the dressmaker cried in dismay.

  Highcliff coughed behind her.

  Effie looked back at him and all pretense of boredom was gone. His gaze was hard and his posture was that of a man ready to do battle.

  “Did you say Averston?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Madame de Beauchamps replied. “Veronique came here from France at his urging… it was just before all the troubles began, you see. They were so very much in love. He wanted to marry her, you know? But she refused him. She was terrified that the scandal would embitter him toward her! It was only when she became with child that she even considered it… but she still would not agree until closer to time for the child to be born in case aught were to go wrong. There had been other babes, you see, that she had lost. She said that she didn’t wish him to be saddled with a scandalous wife who would never be able to bear him children.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Highcliff asked.

  “I was her dresser… one of them, at any rate. But she spoke freely with all of us. There were no secrets in the theater, my lord,” Madame de Beauchamps answered. “As to my failure to recognize Miss St. James, well, I had assumed the child was dead. Veronique would have fought the devil himself to save her child after losing so many before her.”

  “You said she wouldn’t marry him until closer to time for her child to be born… did they actually wed?” Effie asked.

  “But, of course! By special license at St. Clement Danes. It was a secret, of course. He insisted upon it… he was terrified that whatever his mother’s response would be might be too much of a strain on Veronique,” Madame de Beauchamps said. “He adored her and he was giddy at the thought of her bearing his child. I’ve never seen two people so happy or so deeply in love.”

  “Would you swear to these things in court?” Highcliff asked.

  “Certainly, I would!” the dressmaker replied readily. “I feel so terrible! That poor girl has gone her entire life without knowing what a beautiful soul her mother was and how very much she was loved and wanted!”

  Effie felt tears pricking her eyes. No one understood better than she did just how important, how vital such a piece of information could be to someone like Callie. Someone like herself.

  “Might I have a word with you outside, Miss Darrow?” Highcliff said.

  “You remain here. It is very private,” Madame de Beauchamps said. “I must go out front for a moment and make sure that the shop girls have everything in hand.”

  The dressmaker left and Effie turned to face Highcliff. “It’s very bad, isn’t it?”

  “I doubt it could be worse. Not even if she were the daughter of Prinny himself,” Highcliff admitted gruffly. “Averston will lose everything if her identity is discovered. And there has never been a man m
ore unsuited to poverty. Though to be honest, I’d be more concerned about the dowager duchess. That woman is a terror if ever one existed. If either of them knows of her existence, it may already be too late. The wheels could be in motion even as we speak.”

  Effie clasped her hands together in her lap, hating the quiet certainty she heard in his voice. If Highcliff thought the man a danger, then he was. There was nothing for it but to lay out the whole truth, ugly as it was. “Mr. Burney tried to blackmail the earl. He threatened to expose Calliope to Averston if his demands weren’t met… but Montgomery claims to have handled things on that front. What do you think?”

  “I think that Averston and Burney are more than business associates. There are things about their personal lives that I know which Montgomery isn’t privy to I believe … and that could change the dynamic of all of this rather dramatically.”

  “What sort of things?” she asked.

  Highcliff shook his head. “Things I don’t mean to discuss with you… I’ll address it with Montgomery.”

  “I am four and thirty years, Highcliff,” Effie said. “I’m not so easily shocked as you imagine. I am well aware that there are people in this world who feel attraction for members of their own sex. For heaven’s sake, I run a school for girls. Do you think I’ve never encountered it before?”

  His face went positively blank. He stared at her for the longest moment in utter silence.

  “We’re not having this conversation,” he said. “We’re certainly not having it in the back parlor of a dressmaker’s shop. I’ll go out first. I need to get to Montgomery and see what he knows about Averston and Burney. But first, I need to do some digging of my own into other matters… into Averston and the dowager duchess. I’ll have a carriage out front to pick you up and see you home. This is not a game, Effie. The duke and his deceptively frail-looking grandmother are more dangerous than you know and anyone who knows Miss St. James’ true identity is a threat to them.”

  “Surely, we are in no danger! I understand that Calliope is a threat to—”

  “Not yet, we aren’t,” he said. “But that will change. As soon as they realize we are involved, they will set their sights on us, as well. In fact, anyone who knows the truth about this and about your Miss St. James is in the gravest of danger. Go home. See to your students… and leave this to me now.”

  “I most certainly will not! Callie is my responsibility!”

  “And you are mine,” he insisted.

  Effie’s temper flared at that. “I am not. I have not been nor will I ever be… you’ve made your feelings for me abundantly clear in the past, Lord Highcliff.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Clearly, I have not. Effie, if you want to see Callie safe, trust me to do this. If a situation arises where I have to choose which one of you to protect—well, you’d never forgive me for choosing you and I’d never forgive myself if I did not. Please… let me do this.”

  “You promise to look after her?”

  “I do,” he said. “I will make certain she is safe… and you will make certain that you are. I’ll be sending a few men over to guard your house. They’ll be inconspicuous, of course, and remain outside.”

  Effie felt dread welling inside her. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  His lips firmed, forming a thin, tight line. “I hope it isn’t. But these people are ruthless and I won’t take the risk.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I wish we could go to the park,” Charlotte said as she stroked the silken hair of her doll.

  Callie smiled sadly. “Perhaps in a day or so when I’m feeling better. Now, put your doll down and practice your letters. Afterward, we’re going to have a story!”

  “You’re going to read to us?” The hopeful note in the little girl’s voice was difficult to miss.

  “No, Charlotte,” Callie insisted. “You are going to read to me.”

  “But I can’t! I don’t know how.”

  “I’ll help you,” William offered, looking up from the sums he was laboring over.

  “Indeed, you shall. Your reading is coming along nicely,” Callie said, praising the boy. He was so very eager to learn, not for the sake of it, but because he craved praise and attention. It broke her heart a little that he would work so very hard just for a kind word.

  Callie rose from the table where she’d been working on additional lessons for them and crossed to the window where she looked outside. Her senses were whirling, her mind overwhelmed with all the things that had occurred. He was on her mind, of course. Lord Winn Hamilton, Earl of Montgomery. He had been since their conversation in the hired hack that morning. If she were honest, she would admit that he’d been on her mind far more frequently and insistently than that. It seemed her every waking thought was either about him or reminding herself of why she should not think about him. The admission that he wished to kiss her again, that he thought of her with what she could only assume was the same frequency with which he crossed her mind was doing nothing to ease her current predicament. Then there was everything else, things that she had shied away from.

  Her parents. They hadn’t simply abandoned her because they didn’t want her. Her mother, if what had been said was accurate, had left her there on the steps of the workhouse, anonymous and reasonably safe, while she met her own certain death. And if it was true, and if it could be proven, then she was not simply the unwanted bastard daughter of a duke, but an heiress. It would change everything.

  It would render her marriageable.

  The sad truth was that, as a governess trained by Effie, her standards and her expectations were at cross purposes. In comportment and education, she was a lady. She viewed herself as one. But as a governess, there were few men of a station that she could wed that would not be considered beneath her or above her. That could all change. But heiress or not, she was still a bastard. She was still a woman who had been a servant. It seemed as if it would only complicate her life further.

  “You’re very sad, aren’t you?”

  The question had come from William, his small voice tight with concern.

  Callie pasted a smile on her face and turned back to him. “I’m not sad. I’m only tired,” she lied. “I’m sure I’ll be better company tomorrow.”

  He shook his head, his small face clenched with worry. “No. You’re sad the way our mother was when our father was gone for a long time. You’re not going to leave us, are you?”

  Leaving her vantage point at the window, Callie crossed to him and crouched down so they were eye to eye. “I’m not going to leave you. I adore you… all three of you. I will be here with you for as long as I can… for as long as you need me to be.”

  Callie didn’t have any warning. He simply launched himself at her, hurling his small frame against hers and wrapping his arms tightly around her as he pressed his face against her neck. She could feel the heat of his tears, but she didn’t acknowledge them. He was a little boy, after all, embarrassed by such things and clearly trying to hide them. So she simply held him and rubbed his back. After only a brief hesitation, Charlotte came to them as well. She scooted in and pressed herself against Callie’s side, clinging in her own sweet way.

  Those children were broken, neglected, their little hearts and spirits crushed by the years of their parents’ disregard. Whatever her very complicated feelings were for their uncle, and his for her, neither of them could afford to forget that the children had to come first.

  *

  It was their first lesson. Claudia sat stiffly on the bench beside him, her fingers poised on the keys of the pianoforte. He noticed that they trembled slightly, as did her lower lip. Uncertain of what else to do or how else to ease her nerves, Winn placed his fingers on the keys as well, struck a few notes, then hit one very sharp, very sour note that echoed about the room. She turned her head, looking at him in surprise.

  “Even the best of musicians will sometimes strike the wrong chord or stumble over a note, Claudia,” he said. “It doesn’t matter
. You simply keep playing. No one will beat you or punish you for that. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “He was a terrible man. I don’t know what he would have done had Miss St. James not been here.”

  Winn sighed. “Well, she was here and we are both very lucky for it.”

  “You like her.”

  He shrugged. “Of course, I like her. She’s an excellent governess.”

  Claudia’s eyes rolled at that. “No. You like her.”

  Winn stared at the very grown up expression on his young niece’s face and had to accept the fact, that women, regardless of their age, had the unique ability to see straight through a man no matter how well concealed he thought his secrets were. “This is not an appropriate topic of conversation.”

  Her eyebrows arched upward and her lips pressed together into a disapproving line that looked shockingly familiar. She looked like a younger, feminine version of himself to be precise and it was decidedly uncomfortable to be confronted with his own mannerisms in miniature.

  “Really, Uncle Winn, can’t you just admit it? You like her. And I’m fairly certain she likes you!”

  That piqued his curiosity. While he knew he shouldn’t encourage her, he was too invested in the insight she might provide to correct her again. “How do you know?”

  Claudia shrugged. “You both try entirely too hard not to look at one another when you’re in the same room together. It’s obvious. And whenever you leave the room, Miss St. James lets out her breath on a long sigh but it doesn’t sound like relief. It sounds… wistful.”

  “That’s a rather unexpected word choice for someone who supposedly has had a very neglected education,” he pointed out.

  “I can still read… and I like to. I just don’t like to read the things I’m supposed to be reading,” she said. “And I know you went to fetch her this morning and bring her here because you are worried for her.”

  Now that was more than a guess. “How would you know that, Claudia?”

  “I found the note in your study… the one that was thrown through the window. Is she really the daughter of a duke?”