The conveyance halted outside a small yet exquisitely situated cornerstone home on the edge of Limehouse and Ratcliff, and as I peered out the small window, I began to comprehend the situation.
He had not left a gaming hell or a brothel or even a smoky den, but he had spent the evening out after leaving my company.
Piers alighted from the halted carriage first, stepped over the narrow rut meant to drain the streets, and rapped smartly on the front door. It was a nice enough structure, built on the corner of a row of them, and therefore somewhat larger by design.
It was not the sort of place one expected an earl—even a spare turned heir apparent.
The door opened, a feminine voice asked with some surprise, “Did you forget something, my lord?”
“Coincidentally, it seems I misplaced my hat,” Piers said, and I did not think it a lie, for I’d seen none atop his head or within the carriage where Maddie Ruth and I waited. “Something rather interruptive has occurred, m’dear, forgive me for this.”
He stepped inside, opened wide the door, and beckoned for us to follow.
I went first, for if there were Ferrymen about, I’d rather Maddie Ruth escape by way of carriage.
I must have looked something out of a childhood prank, covered in mud, skirts plastered stiff with it, and that only to my knee. Darting inside put me within a small foyer, larger than the one I claimed now but half the size of my previous Cheyne Walk home.
The exterior of the home might be plain, but the interior was lovely, decorated in delicate style. It was sweetly feminine, with etched gas lamp fixtures affixed to the wall and a beautifully woven carpet of unique design stretched into the hall. Striped paper upon the walls in pale cream, orange burnt dark and a lovely shade of deep violet brought a certain warmth to the whole.
A woman’s startled breath proved exactly what sort of frightful mess I dragged with me.
I froze where I stood, but it wasn’t enough to keep the drying mud from peeling off my leg and splatting to the pristine floor. It seemed overly loud. I winced.
The woman who watched me shed filth upon her floor blinked. Clad as she was in a day dress the color of brown bread ice cream, I thought uncharitably that Lord Piers’s lady mother would be the first to call this woman plain. It was not true. Though her dress lacked any indication of the frippery so favored by them above the drift, it suited her in its simplicity, contrasting with skin the color of the dark wood my father had favored in his study.
Eyes like obsidian flecked with gold met mine in wide wonder.
Of all that I had expected—and I expected Piers to maintain a mistress or half a dozen—I had not thought he would choose a woman of such remarkable color. It was a vastly unfair thing to think, and I recognized that the instant surprise formed within me.
I had spent too long among those of Lord Piers’s stature, and I did not like how easily I slipped into that mold when in an earl’s company once more.
Regardless of her station in life, she was my hostess. All else came secondary to the favor she did me.
And she was lovely.
“Miss Turner,” said Piers absently, peering out into the gray muck, “may I introduce La—”
“I’m a collector,” I said abruptly; too loudly, for she flinched. “Please don’t call me anything. I’m—” A pause, a quick glance out the door, and I lowered my voice. “Collector’s business, Miss Turner, I’m sorry to come uninvited.”
Half a lie, that, but the better one of all I had to choose from.
Piers’s mouth sealed on a white line, and this I had little choice but to ignore for now.
Miss Turner surprised me once more. “Come inside,” she ordered, and an order it certainly was for all it came on a gentle contralto pleasing to the ear. “Is there more?”
“One,” I said.
Lord Piers added, “Here she is.”
Maddie Ruth careened over the narrow stoop, flushed with more enjoyment than was proper, and the earl shut the door behind her. There we all stood—a merry pair of vagabonds, the earl, and his mistress.
Miss Turner’s smile took the bow of her mouth and turned it into a tool so fine, I was not certain even she knew the strength of it. Piers no doubt did, as the helpless curve that tugged at his lips seemed softer than the stinging sarcasm he’d delivered me.
I followed Miss Turner silently, cognizant of the trouble at hand, and the need to solve it all. “First, we’ll see to your attire,” she told me, leading me up the stairs.
She left Lord Piers to his own devices, and to Maddie Ruth’s. That simple lack of invite—the courteous offer to make one’s self comfortable—suggested that he spent a fair bit of time here already.
It took a quarter of an hour to rid me of the mud I’d accrued, but it was time that needed spending. With no sighting of me by the Ferrymen ranks, I hoped they’d spread wide enough to lose sight of escape routes, allowing safer travel.
Miss Turner’s home practically sat upon Ferrymen territory. This would make matters more complicated, and every minute passed was one I fretted upon.
When I finally dried myself and dressed in the attire Miss Turner laid out for me, I felt somewhat less of a bedraggled child and rather more aware of the feeling that I encroached where I desperately did not need to be. The dress chosen for me was, like the one she wore, simple yet refined. A pale robin’s egg blue in color, it would no doubt look stunning upon her, and I thought perhaps she’d chosen it in deference to her lord’s supposed friendship with me.
I plaited my hair and left it hanging down my back, happy to be rid of the itching the too-tight pins caused me.
I rejoined the others in the parlor to find tea served, and gratefully took the cup Maddie Ruth passed me. It was still warm.
Piers stood before the fire, one hand upon the mantel, and stared into the flame in brooding silence. I had never known the younger lord to brood, but then, I had not really come to know him at all.
The act increased the similarity of appearance between him and his late brother.
The recognition hurt, but in a bittersweet way that did not steal my breath as it once had. This, too, was a sort of sentimental understanding. My husband was gone. Piers labored to rise from his brother’s long shadow.
I could admire both, but it was the younger that stood before me now.
Maddie Ruth sat beside me upon the sofa, as though to offer solidarity.
Miss Turner’s silver spoon clinked gently against her saucer. “How long should I prepare for your staying?” she asked, eyes forthright upon me. She did not simper, nor did she bend her head.
I approved. Not that Lord Piers required it, especially from a wayward sister-in-law.
“Not very long,” I said, and did not mince words in like esteem. “The Ferrymen are out in force, but they should lapse into normalcy soon enough.”
Her eyebrows, thick and dramatic in arch, furrowed. “Did you tangle with the Black Fish Ferrymen?”
“Not directly,” I said, and frowned at her. “Have they been bothering you?”
“I pay my dues,” she replied, one shoulder lifting in a dismissive sort of shrug. My gaze flicked to Piers, who studiously ignored us both.
“Are they selling protection in Limehouse?” I demanded.
“I can’t speak for all of it, but here, yes.” Miss Turner sipped at her tea, her dark eyes level. “They moved into Ratcliff nearly half a year past.”
Maddie Ruth frowned, mimicking me. Unconsciously, I’d wager. She kept too open an eye upon me; she figured herself something like a protégé—a belief I labored to rid her of. “But this here’s Menagerie territory,” she protested.
Karakash Veil territory to be precise, but I didn’t bother correcting her. “Which may be near enough the same not to matter,” I said. “Miss Turner—”
“Please call me Adelaide,” she interrupted, and I thought I might have heard a muffled snort from Piers. Laughter? Or dismay? He did not turn to show his face.
“Adelaide, then,” I allowed, smiling despite the current circumstance. “Please excuse me that I do not offer a name. I fear what trouble it will bring you.”
“I’ve heard about you.” When I raised my eyebrows, she added, “The girl who is a collector. There’s always been rumor. I’d no idea my lord knew you personally.”
“I don’t.” Piers finally turned, but I saw little trace of amusement in features that seemed rather more stern than when we’d first met. I suspected the earl’s responsibilities weighed heavily.
When Piers neglected to explicate, Adelaide bent to place the delicate saucer upon the small table set between the sofa and two handsomely carved chairs. With no trace of annoyance at her patron’s curt behavior, she said only, “What is your next step? I am pleased to offer my home for as long as you require.”
“That will not be necessary,” I replied hastily, well aware of the pale green eyes narrowing upon me. “I will send Maddie Ruth out now to report to my—that is, a colleague.” A stumble, there, and one I was not quick enough to mask.
What would I call Ashmore? When I had known Piers, Ashmore was simply my absent guardian. Although briefly a lover, and no doubt he would not argue were I to call him such, he was more of a tutor—and that I could not say without explaining what I, a self-admitted collector, would require a tutor for. Alchemical study was not the sort of thing one brought up in polite company.
Well, unless one was visiting with Lady Rutledge and her salon.
Piers was most certainly not of that ilk.
Maddie Ruth set her tea cup down atop the bare wood table, obviously forgetting the saucer she’d left in her lap. “I’ll run lickety-quick,” she promised. “I left a note, but there’s no telling when he’d return.”
“Have you another exit, Adelaide?”
The woman’s smile pulled ear to ear; a touch of excitement, I thought. Like as not the first of a collector’s attentions she’d had. “I do, and a proper gate leading to a lane that should take you far as Brook Street.”
Piers folded his arms across his chest. “If your girl has need of my carriage—”
“No,” I interrupted, and once more, I realized I’d been too firm. I softened what I could, but I dared not allow Lord Piers and his lady any more trouble. “I appreciate the offer, but ’tis daylight now, and I’ll lay odds your carriage has been marked. If it starts going north when you’re used to heading to the docks, the wrong sorts will take note.”
“I’ll be all right,” Maddie Ruth chimed in, standing and shaking out her long woolen skirt. She caught the saucer before it tumbled to the floor, casting it an accusatory eye as though it had only spited her. “T’weren’t be the first time I drift through Limehouse.”
Adelaide stood as well, and it did not take much scrutiny to note the way Lord Piers’s gaze touched upon her face. The stern lines carved into already strong cheekbones and masculine jaw seemed to relax in her company.
A gentle sort of acknowledgement.
Perhaps it was I growing softer. My heart went out to a man I already felt as though I owed the world to. Just another in a queue, and not enough of me to mend all the hurts he bore.
I squared my shoulders. “Maddie Ruth, tell him ’tis paramount we move location. We can’t stay where we’ve been discovered.”
“Right.” She set the errant saucer beside the cup. “Anything else?”
“I’ll leave soon after you do to—”
“You are welcome to stay—” Adelaide began.
“Don’t be daft,” Piers snapped over her. To me?
I cupped my cooling tea with tense fingers. “Do you mean to suggest that I stay for longer?”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of turning you out,” Adelaide assured me.
Piers’s jaw shifted, as though that bit of gentlemanly regard that forced his earlier words tasted too bitter in the after.
I carefully did not look at him. “I really think it best that I find an alternative.”
“Nonsense,” Adelaide replied firmly, and tipped her head to one side at her patron.
Piers sighed. Loudly. “Please do not cause Miss Turner any more concern.”
Clever cover, that one. I could point out that my very presence was concern enough, but he made it clear without saying the words that my apparent risk outweighed the worry she’d suffer were I simply to depart.
A kind girl, his Miss Turner.
“Won’t be dark enough for lamps ’til an hour or more,” Maddie Ruth said. “The black’ll make it easy. Will you be all right ’til then?”
“It seems I’ve little choice,” I replied, barely short of courtesy. Mouth pursing, I added, “Thank you for the care, Adelaide.”
“It is my pleasure,” she assured me, then smiled at the younger girl. “I think we should go together.”
Piers startled at that, arms unfolding as though he might seize her in both hands. “What? Who said anything about your accompaniment?”
“’Tis a common enough thing for me to take your carriage for errands,” she said, rather matter-of-factly. “It would be better should any be watching.”
Piers snorted outright. “And so you will claim my carriage. How long have you hidden this manipulative mind of yours?”
“Perhaps you might pay more attention when next we sit at the chess board, my lord.” Adelaide smoothed back near-black hair that did not need it, straight as a pin and wound into a thick chignon. He watched her hand—delicate fingers and roughened palm—with longing.
I felt very much the intruder. Maddie Ruth shuffled from foot to foot, her wide brown eyes filled with sparkling awareness of the whole.
“I...see,” said the bewitched earl, and this time—though I smothered a chuckle—it was Maddie Ruth’s muffled laughter that broke the spell.
A fascinating color darkened Adelaide’s cheeks as Piers turned back to the mantel and said only, “Be careful, Miss Turner. Our engagement is not yet at an end.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, and winked boldly at me behind his back.
They left together after Adelaide furnished the younger girl with a lovely cloak, arm in arm as bosom companions might. They did not choose the back exit, but the front; hidden in plain sight.
When silence once more filled the home, and the bustle of Limehouse outside thrummed in counter, I stared down into my cold tea and did not know how best to broach all that I wanted to say.
The first I’d ever made the young lord’s acquaintance, he’d danced with me at the same ball I met his brother—the soiree that culminated in a cut direct from his mother. Such was the foundation of our relationship, his family and I.
I could never say for certain what it was that drew Compton’s attentions to me, and surely the meddling of my chaperone had helped matters along. Soon enough, I found an earl readily at my arm.
Was it truly so difficult a choice to marry him?
I thought it to be, once. Even as Lord Piers made an effort to befriend me, to soothe my rocky path in his lady mother’s sight, I debated this topic fiercely with myself.
The only conclusion I held now was that I had done that family a terrible disservice, and could not blame Piers his icy regard.
I did not know how to make it up to him. Words felt so brittle under the weight of such a loss.
The painted wooden clock affixed to the wall behind me ticked and tocked, a sonorous beat that tapped out the measures of this silent dance.
“What happened to you after the wedding?” When he finally spoke, it took me a moment to understand that what he truly asked.
I could not face him, knowing I would only see his back. “Do you favor honesty, Lord...Earl Compton, or is it pretty lies you require?”
“This sardonicism—”
“No,” I said firmly, raising my head. “There is nothing sardonic about my query. You are an earl, no thanks to me, and in this moment, I am not a countess. I am not an heiress, nor your brother’s widow. I am only a woman laboring to undo that w
hat she wrought.”
“You are wrong,” he said tightly, turning away from the warm flame to pin eyes like jade ice upon me. I had thought him stern before, but that was nothing as to the harsh planes grief and shuttered intensity carved upon him. “You are my brother’s widow, make no mistake. Every action you take, every choice, carves another wound into this name you carry.”
“That is not so—”
His fist came down upon the mantel, silencing me as the delicate objets d’art arrayed upon it rattled and clinked. “The truth you so cleverly ask me to demand of you is one you do not even recognize yourself. Do not think yourself inured to my anger.”
It was not until the tea within my clutched cup rippled and danced did I realize how badly my hands shook. Tightening my grip did nothing to salve the tremors.
Weary though he might be from a night spent with his mistress’s charms, or perhaps from the hells he favored, he was no less forceful for it. Pricked by the uncomfortable needles of his raw honesty, I could only fall silent as he stabbed them again and again into my vulnerable conscience.
“Cornelius chose you.” His voice came strained, as though filtered through incomprehensible anger into reason. “He wed you, despite all arguments to the contrary, and you could not even arse yourself to be at the funeral.”
My lips twitched at the escaped uncivility, but humor was the last of my feelings. “You are right, of course.”
“Do not,” he cut in harshly, slashing a gloved hand through the air. “You will speak when I am done. For months, I have borne the burden of my family’s guilt, stood silently for them when they mourned my brother’s untimely passing, and now you will bear mine.”
I wanted so badly to look away from him, to drop my eyes and save myself the painful arrows of his anguish. Because I wanted it, I did not.
I watched him and said nothing.
He began to pace, as I had often done in my wilder moments without opium to ease my state of being. “Why you?” he demanded. “Of all the pretty fillies vying for an earl’s hand, why did he choose you?”
I had no answer for that.
He reached the far end of the parlor, turned and glared at me. “Do you know what it is you have done?”
Engraved: Book Five of The St. Croix Chronicles Page 12