Promise: A Lords of Action Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  Talia offered a smile. “Perhaps.”

  “Fletcher said you fell in the market and he caught you. Besotted you both were. The start of every fabled love story.” She waved her cane in a wide arc, the end of it hitting a man to Talia’s left in the shoulder. He whipped around, annoyed, then saw who was attached to the cane and merely took a step away, returning to his conversation.

  Aunt Penelope’s penetrating eyes sank into Talia. “But the story is a little too perfect, my dear. So tell me where you truly met my nephew.”

  “I…” Talia took another deep breath. What had she just decided? Tell the truth as far as she could. She braced herself. This was either going to go horribly awry, or awfully awry, so she may as well start forth. “I saw Fletch one day on the street, and I remembered him from a ball held years ago at his townhouse.”

  Aunt Penelope nodded, both of her hands wrapping atop the gold gilded pigeon with ruby eyes on the top of her cane. “I remember that. It was the last ball held in the Lockston house—the only one in the last six years. It was to celebrate his older brother’s engagement.”

  Talia nodded. She hadn’t remembered that particular fact, but she couldn’t let that show to Aunt Penelope. She couldn’t recall when his older brother had died, only that he had, but she wasn’t about to show ignorance and ask about it. Her smile widened. “Yes. So after seeing him on the street, I approached Fletch a day later, as I need assistance with my sister and I imagined that maybe he could help me.”

  “What assistance does your sister need?”

  “I am not at liberty to discuss her current situation, but suffice it to say, Fletch was very accommodating to my needs. And now here we are.”

  Aunt Penelope’s grey eyes went to slits, her voice hissing. “That story possesses more crevices and cracks than the garish one Fletcher told me about your meeting.”

  Talia’s heart sank. She had hoped to say enough to sate the older woman, but had only floundered in her explanation. And if Aunt Penelope hated her, that meant Talia held no use for Fletch. He now had absolutely no reason to help her find Louise.

  “But I can see it is also the truth, dear, as far as you are willing to tell me. That, I do respect—the keeping of confidence you have been entrusted with.” She patted the seat next to her on the Gothic-inspired sofa, its fabric an ostentatious damask featuring a mass of golden swans. “You may sit now, dear.”

  Talia’s eyes went wide.

  “Do not just gawk at me, dear. Sit.”

  Talia blinked, realizing she was standing still. Spinning so fast her skirts flew wide, she sat next to Aunt Penelope. She could not help but feel she had just managed an enormous victory where Fletch’s aunt was concerned.

  Aunt Penelope leaned toward her with a sharp tap of her cane on the floor. “Though you must understand that, at some point, you will tell me the full truth on the matter of your meeting my great-nephew. I will demand it, dear. But not tonight.”

  Talia squarely met her look. “I expect that you will. Thank you for the courtesy.”

  Fletch’s aunt nodded, her eyes sweeping the many faces in the room. “I understand you arrived tonight with a young companion instead of your mother. Tell me, dear, how does your mother fare?”

  “Oh.” Talia’s look snapped to the older woman. “I was not aware you knew my mother.”

  “She was a friend of Fletch’s mother, Margaret, when they were young debutantes.” Aunt Penelope shook her head, then righted her turban so it sat straight once more. “So very dreadful, the death of your father. And that new Earl of Roserton—do not get me started on his machinations. That is what happens when a far-removed relation is plucked from obscurity to head a title. A debacle ensues. That man has taken parliament by quite the angry storm.”

  “He has?”

  Aunt Penelope’s grey eyes went shrewd again. “Why yes, dear. Do you not keep up on politics?”

  “I only just came in from Norfolk and am a whit behind in my knowledge of town business.” She swallowed a longer exaggerated excuse. In truth, Talia hadn’t bothered to keep tabs on politics in a long time. She had been far too busy finding food to eat.

  “You have missed an abysmal show of the man, then, Lady Natalia.” Her cane cracked into the floor. “Ridiculous, what the man has demanded of ancient families. Shame he is your family.”

  “Cousin Arnold is not my family.” The words blurted out, irrepressible rage bursting forth before Talia could curb it. Her mouth clamped shut.

  “You do not care for the man either, dear?”

  Talia shook her head.

  “You are in good company.” Aunt Penelope’s focus went back to the crowd. “So your mother, dear. How is she?”

  “She is in Norfolk.”

  “Fine. Fine place to be this time of year. Excellent sport in Norfolk.”

  Talia’s chin jutted out, her lips tightening. Norfolk was not fine with the bitter cold and a dwindling stack of scarce peat logs. Talia nodded.

  “Your sister, Lady Natalia. When will her coming out be? This upcoming season? I understand you and your mother and sister withdrew to grieve, but as you are back in London, I can assume your sister will be presented soon? She is past age, is she not?”

  Natalia froze, all moisture leaving her mouth. As boiling hot as she had been earlier in the night, an opposite chill swept her, draining all blood from her face.

  They withdrew to grieve? That was the story Cousin Arnold floated about?

  Aunt Penelope looked at her, her head cocking to the side as she stared at Talia’s face. “Your sister, dear, what of her plans?”

  “Aunt Penelope, tell me you have not extracted every last piece of information from Talia so there will be nothing left for me to enjoy in the wonder of discovery.” Fletch’s hand went onto his aunt’s shoulder, drawing her attention away from Talia.

  Aunt Penelope’s gaze swung to her nephew, clearly miffed at the interruption. “I was just getting to that, Fletcher Bartholomew, and I do not appreciate your interruption in the matter.”

  “Alas, they are ready to go down to dinner and I would be honored to help you to your feet.”

  He leaned down, setting his hand under his aunt’s elbow. She patted his cheek.

  Fletch glanced over his aunt’s yellow turban to catch Talia’s eye. She mouthed a silent “thank you.”

  He lifted her elbow, and with both hands pressing down on her cane, Aunt Penelope made it to her feet. Talia stood next to her, hands at the ready in case she faltered. Fletch was right—for how very hard she wielded her cane, she was slight, almost fragile.

  “I do not care for you trying to control me, Fletcher.” Aunt Penelope looked up at him as she steadied herself. “But I am pleased you have finally brought a lady to me. Impeccable lines, this one. Her father was a fine man. As was her grandfather.”

  They started walking across the drawing room. Talia trailed Fletch and his aunt, staring at the height disparity between the two. He was tall—two heads taller than Talia—and his aunt was a head shorter than Talia, even more so with the stoop of her back. Yet the comfort with which his aunt held his arm, and the way Fletch tilted his shoulder down to her to ease the height she had to reach, told Talia more about their relationship than words ever could.

  She just hoped she had performed well enough tonight that Fletch would not see fit to dissolve their deal.

  ~~~

  Talia leaned back on the cushions in the carriage, exhaling the breath she had held in the depths of her lungs the entire party.

  She watched Fletch move onto the seat across from her. He had said little to her the entire night, leaving her to her own conversations with people, but she had still felt the odd security of him always just within reach. Always ready to step in and save her from an uncomfortable conversation. Or at least, she thought that was his intention. He could have just as easily been ready to swoop in to save another guest from her.

  Loosening his cravat, Fletch settled his wide frame on the bench, str
etching his legs straight out on either side of her calves. The man did take up a lot of room. The carriage started to roll forward.

  “Was that overwhelming?” Fletch asked the question without judgement and without mentioning her earlier anxiety. “It appeared you did well.”

  “No. It was easy enough to act the lady in the life I once led.” Talia tugged at each of the fingertips of her white gloves, loosening them from her fingers before she pulled her hands free of the fabric. Her belly fuller than it had been in years, guilt sliced through her. What had Louise had for dinner this night? Her mother?

  She looked up at Fletch, ignoring how her stomach had started to churn at the thought. “I had assumed our expulsion from society was well-known. But apparently, the new Earl of Roserton has wanted to keep his reprehensible exploits far from the light of the gossipmongers.”

  “Just what, exactly, did the earl do to your family?”

  Talia’s lips drew in as her head dropped, fighting against the years of shame. But then she glanced up at Fletch. His grey eyes held only genuine concern. “Cousin Arnold was polite enough to wait until the day after father’s funeral. Then he had a horde of men remove us from Rosevin, our estate in Suffolk. Our home. Nine men to remove three small ladies in mourning.” Her throat caught on her words. “Mother pleaded with him, but it did not sway him. We could take nothing. Nothing. The clothes we wore.”

  She swallowed hard, her look going to the top left corner of the carriage. “It was the home I grew up in. Land I loved. Horses I loved. Chickens. Goats. Sheep. Dogs. I loved all of it. Every corner of that home. My bed. My room. And then…then it was just gone.”

  Her face tilted upward, the crown of her head hitting the cushion as she attempted to drain back tears that threatened. She never thought of Rosevin. Never.

  “But surely your father provided for you? Your mother’s thirds at the very least, dowries for you and your sister. A trust. A home for you to live in.”

  Talia’s gaze remained on the ceiling of the carriage. Her head swayed back and forth. “He overlooked the necessity of it. Or it was destroyed—I do not know. My mother’s dowry was tiny—we went through it quite quickly. And then father’s solicitor died—he was the only one who offered to help us demand her share, and even at that, it was pity on his part. Since then, Cousin Arnold has effectively blocked any attempt we have made to claim her thirds—he has tied all the land into mortgages that must be satisfied—cutting all income. Even the provisions father made for Louise and me were verbal—nothing written. Nothing signed.”

  “Your father—what kind of a man does that to his family?”

  Talia’s eyes whipped down to Fletch, her voice harsh. “Do not. My father loved us. He was kind and he took the utmost care with us. You do not get to speak ill of him.”

  “Leaving a wife and daughters penniless is taking care of nothing.”

  “You do not understand who he was.” Her fingertips went to her forehead, rubbing it. “Papa never would have imagined—he did not know this would transpire. If he had…he would have…he just never wanted to consider death.”

  “And he failed you in the process. He did not take care of you.”

  Her hand fell from her forehead, and her arms clamped across her ribcage. “He loved us.”

  “Love and responsibility are very different things, Talia.”

  She looked away from Fletch, staring out the window to the passing buildings. She didn’t want to think on this tonight. Didn’t want to defend against the same argument she’d had with herself countless times since her father died. Especially not after having to enter back into the world she had been ripped from.

  “I meant no disrespect to his affection for you, Talia.”

  She nodded, unable to look at him.

  “It is just that I am conditioned to think about death and all it entails.”

  Her eyes crept back to him. His aunt had mentioned his preoccupation with death as well. Now knowing he had lost a sister, as well as an older brother, Talia assumed it was hard not to be preoccupied with death.

  “Your aunt—I am the first woman you brought before her?”

  “The only one.”

  “She mentioned you like the attentions of widows.”

  Fletch bolted upright, his eyebrows high. “She what?”

  Talia shrugged. “She said you like widows. She found me peculiar in contrast to them.”

  He groaned. “And now you know why I have never brought a woman before her. No one should be subject to her devilry.”

  “She adores you. Anything she says clearly comes from that particular place.”

  “I do not think I want to know the details of the rest of your conversation.” He could not stop his head from shaking. “She approves of you thus far, that is the important fact.”

  “She said so?”

  “No. She would never admit to such a thing. But I could tell.”

  Talia nodded. “Is there any news on my sister?”

  “Not yet. Where can I drop you?”

  “The boarding house. I have to change and darken my hair. My maid’s clothes are with us?”

  “Yes.” A frown set onto Fletch’s face. “So you are still determined to work at the Jolly Vassal this night?”

  She nodded.

  “I did not say anything earlier, but after tonight, after seeing you in that drawing room…it is not right.”

  “What is not right?”

  “You working in a brothel. You are a lady, Talia—bred to be so.”

  Her chest tightened. He wasn’t going to try to stop her, was he? That was not part of their bargain. “What you saw tonight were clothes, Fletch. Nothing more. Clothes and clean hair. I am the exact same person that appeared on your doorstep the other day. The exact same person slopping a chamber pot behind the brothel. I am far removed from the lady I once was. I have seen and done and heard too much to be the innocent flower I once was. Nor do I have any desire to rejoin that world. My only desire right now is to find my sister.”

  He nodded, but she could see very well he was arguing in his mind against every word she uttered.

  “But the brothel, Talia, the danger. Do you think it wise to return there? You do have my assistance now.”

  “Yes, yet I am still woefully short on time, Fletch. Louise has been gone for a fortnight. And I cannot depend solely upon you to find her. Every day I do not find her is another day she…”

  Her voice cut, unwilling to speak the possibilities she did not want to give credence to.

  “I cannot convince you to let me handle the investigation?”

  “Do not think to even try.”

  He sighed. “Then you should know, if you do not already.”

  “What?”

  “Have you been to the top floor of the brothel?”

  “No.”

  “I fear telling you this.” Pausing, he rubbed the back of his neck. “The top floor—that is where they keep the girls when they come in, if you can make your way upward. There are three rooms, as far as I have been able to piece together from the Baker Street house women. The brothel does not want soused patrons stumbling in upon the girls, thinking they are free for the taking. So they keep them far above the other rooms. For all the horrid business of it, they do at least attempt to keep the girls pristine until they are auctioned off.”

  Talia gasped air, not even aware she had been holding her breath. “The top floor?”

  “Yes. But do not do anything dangerous, Talia. If an auction happens tonight, I will be below, ready to buy her. You will recognize her, and you will pass by me, whispering to me which one is Louise. It is the safest way to remove her.”

  Talia nodded just as the carriage came to a stop in front of the boarding house. The carriage door opened and she gathered her skirts.

  Fletch leaned forward, grabbing her wrist to halt her, his voice hard. “Nothing dangerous, Talia. Promise me.”

  Her eyebrows arched at his vehemence, at the intensity flowing
from his fingers into her wrist. She nodded. “I promise.”

  He released her wrist and she stepped down from his carriage with something she had not felt in a long time.

  Hope.

  { Chapter 4 }

  Tip of boot. Skirt. Tip of boot with a new hole at the big toe. Skirt. Tip of boot.

  All her renewed hope lost. Gone. Decimated in three short minutes in the top floor of the brothel. No Louise.

  Skirt. Tip of boot with a new hole at the big toe. Skirt. Tip of boot.

  In the twenty blocks she had walked, Talia had looked nowhere but at her feet. So deep into the night, she hadn’t needed to watch for horses or carriages. The darkness heavy on her shoulders, she couldn’t even manage to lift her chin.

  Twenty blocks, and she didn’t have a plan. Every step along the way for the past four years, a plan had always come to her instantly. Find somewhere to live. Plan. Find food. Plan. Find heat. Plan. Find work. Plan. Find Louise. Plan.

  But now, in that very moment, she had nothing. Absolutely nothing. An empty well with not a scrap in it.

  And the twenty blocks of walking had not sparked a single idea. There had to be something more she could do. There had to be. This could not be the end. She could not allow it.

  Her toe caught on a chunk of wood from a broken barrel, and she stumbled.

  She looked up for the first time since leaving the Jolly Vassal. Spinning, she tried to recognize her nearly pitch-black surroundings.

  Hell.

  She was in the alley she always took during the day and never at night. Never at night.

  And now she stood in the exact middle of it.

  She lifted her foot just as panic sent a shiver down her spine a mere second before a slight shadow to her right lurched. She jumped away, scampering.

  A meaty clamp went around her wrist, yanking her to a stop and swinging her into a stack of crates. The crates tumbled around her and she fumbled, trying to wrench her arm free.

  Her wrist was jerked upward and it lifted her off her feet before her hand slammed into the brick wall. She could hear pounding feet and crates flying into the air.