The Lady’s Lover

by Deb Marlowe

  Pretending to be the vicar is not Lord M—’s only wedding trick. Using a false identity is another. He has enacted entire courtships under a fake name, tricking young ladies and their families thoroughly. Some of these unfortunate girls are abandoned after their wedding nights. Several have disappeared—and have yet to be found.

  --from the Journal of the Infamous Miss Hestia Wright

  * * *

  Hestia took the warm loaf of bread from the baker’s hand and breathed deeply. “Mmm.” Everyone at Half Moon House missed Callie’s rosemary bread. This wasn’t the same, but a bit of fresh, warm bread for breakfast would cheer them all. “I’ll have half a dozen,” she told the flour-speckled man.

  She walked back to Craven Street in the rising light of dawn. She loved doing a bit of marketing at this hour. The streets were never so peaceful as at this moment. Everyone up to trouble and mischief had slunk back to their holes and the vendors and shopkeepers were still mostly optimistic about the new day and not yet tired, cranky or disappointed. She stopped at a farm cart and filled the spaces between loaves with fresh eggs. She was just leaving the Strand when a young girl approached her.

  She didn’t know this one. In her dirt smeared hand she held out a straggly bouquet of wildflowers. “These are for you, mum,” the girl said. “From the gentleman across the way.”

  Hestia looked, but she knew the man wouldn’t be there any longer. Gently, she took the flowers. Nestled in the midst of them was a chess piece. A king’s piece, with an intricately carved crown. A note curled around the length of it.

  You will never see it coming. The final blow approaches.

  She sighed. Marstoke did like his games. Every so often he sent one of his lackeys with a note like this, hoping to intimidate her, or just to infuriate her. He should know by now it would not deter her. She rather thought he counted on it.

  Ripping the note into pieces, she handed the chess piece over to the girl. “Take this to Mr. Song’s shop. Do you know it?”

  The girl clutched the piece and nodded.

  “He’ll give you a few coins for it.”

  The urchin blinked and then she was gone. Hestia made a note to look for that one again, in the same area, then she handed the flowers to the egg girl and headed home.

  It wasn’t long after that she settled before the low fire in her rooms with a cup of tea, a sausage and a slice of that fresh bread. Just a bit of peace before a very long day ahead, that’s all she hoped for. She’d barely taken her first sip when Isaac announced an unexpected visitor.

  Unexpected visitors were de rigueur around here, of course, but this one managed to surprise her. Her tea had long grown cold by the time the woman stopped talking long enough to sob into her kerchief.

  “I know I should have told you!” Lady Diane sobbed. “I don’t blame you for being terribly angry.”

  “I’m not at all angry,” Hestia reassured her. “Just surprised.” Lady Diane was one of the regular volunteers here at Half Moon House and had been for at least a year of two. “I’d noticed that you’ve established a friendly relationship with several of the girls here. Molly clearly looks up to you. But I would never have guessed—”

  “No one knows!” The countess wiped her eyes, but tears still flowed. “I confessed to my husband before we were married—at least, I told him that I was not . . . chaste. I did not tell him of the little girl I had borne. My mother knew, of course, but she passed long ago.”

  “Your daughter’s father knows, presumably, if you suspect him of trying to abduct her.”

  “I know it was him,” Lady Diane said fiercely.

  “We suspected it was one of Marstoke’s people who tried to grab Molly. Your . . . her father . . . he is not . . ?”

  “Marstoke?” The countess gasped in horror. “No! Certainly not! Her father is a wastrel, to be sure. A man of good family and a horrible penchant for gambling, but nothing like the sort of villainy Marstoke gets up to.”

  “He appears to be climbing the ladder of villainy if he’s moved up to abduction.”

  “He must owe a huge sum. He approached me at the start of the Season and tried to blackmail me, threatening to tell the world about my sins. I knew I could not give in or it would never end.”

  “Very true,” Hestia said with approval.

  “So, I lied. I told him my husband knew everything and would have him thrashed within an inch of his life if he uttered even a whisper. Or if he came near me again.”

  “You did exactly right,” she said warmly.

  “I don’t know why I was so foolish as to want him to begin with.” Lady Diane dropped her head in her hands. “I was young. Headstrong. And he seized my mind. Stole all of my focus. It was the same as when I was eleven and the local boys teased me, told me that I was just a girl and would never get to the top of the chestnut at the edge of our park. So, of course, I became obsessed with climbing it. I went back again and again until I climbed that tree.”

  Hestia suppressed a smile. “So, someone told you that the young man was not for you?”

  “Oh, yes. It was exactly the same with that handsome rogue that I was not supposed to turn my eye to. I could think of nothing else. I flirted relentlessly and was determined to conquer him, just like that tree.”

  Her words conjured an image of Stoneacre—tall, solid, imposing—and forbidden. “Yes,” she sighed. “We’ve all had men we’d like to climb like a tree, haven’t we?”

  “Except that this time, they were right. He conquered me, in the end. He refused to offer for me, and my mother took me abroad to hide the consequences.” She lifted her chin, suddenly fierce. “I won’t have Molly suffer further for my folly. The girl has been through enough.” Her shoulders slumped again. “Oh, but he must want her for proof. Surely he’s gone and tracked her down. If I was able to do it, he must have been, too.”

  “And how did you?” Hestia asked. “You must know I took the girl out of a bad situation in a bawdy house.”

  Lady Diane sniffed again. “I do. You must not think the worst of me! I promise you, Hestia, I placed her with a kind couple. They were tenants of my sister’s husband, childless, and so happy to take her in. I sent money and help when I could, with my sister’s aid. But the influenza went through the village. It took the couple and laid my sister low for months. By the time I found out and got there, Molly had been sent to the poor house, and they had immediately shipped her off to the mills in Manchester. When I found the place—she’d already run away.”

  Hestia straightened as a memory blossomed. “You were the one who brought the news of the girls being siphoned from the mills to work in the brothels.”

  “Yes, I . . .” She dipped her head. “Oh, please do not tell my husband!”

  “I will never betray your secrets, my dear.”

  “I pawned some jewelry to pay an investigator when I could not find her in Manchester. He found the place she’d gone. His report was . . . sickening. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew you would help if you learned of it.”

  “I’m very glad you came to us. Molly was only one of the girls who needed to be liberated from that place.”

  “And you’ve been wonderful, knowing just how to help them recover from such a terrible ordeal. Molly has grown so, has she not? She’s funny and eager and a kind girl—thanks to you.”

  Hestia held still when Lady Diane reached out to grip her forearm. “I owe you so very much. And now I must place another burden on you and ask you to keep her safe.”

  “It is no burden. Molly is one of our own. As are you, my lady. We will not allow anything to happen to that girl, and will do our best to help you, as well. Now that we know where the threat is coming from, we can combat it.”

  “Oh, can you? Could you?”

  “We can,” Hestia assured her. She waited a moment, wondering if the countess would share the name of her tormentor, but the woman seemed wrapped up in her thoughts and after a moment’s reflection, Hestia thought it might be best if the gen
tlewoman knew nothing of what might come next. Instead, she asked softly, “What will you tell Molly, if anything, now?”

  “Oh, I don’t know! There are so many things I wish I could say to her. Things I wish I could do for her.”

  Hestia stood. “I would advise you to spend a bit of time with her, Lady Diane. Say nothing now, but she has been a bit low-spirited since the attack and I know she would relish the kindness. Listen to her thoughts and fears and hopes.” She pressed the countess’s hand. “I know guilt and fear must weigh heavy upon you, but you must remember that your goal should be to do what’s best for Molly. It deserves careful consideration.”

  Lady Diane nodded. “I will not rush into anything, despite the temptation. I promise, Hestia.”

  She guided the countess to the door. “I am leaving Town for a few days, but I will speak to Isaac. May I be allowed to tell him the truth? There is no better man to keep your secret—and your girl—safe.”

  Lady Diane slumped a bit, but then stiffened her spine. “Yes, of course.” She faced the door and rallied herself. Sunlight streamed in the window, finding glints in her blonde hair and making her skin shine like pearl against her navy gown. She was a fine woman. Hestia suspected she would do more than right by Molly. “Thank you, Hestia,” the countess said fervently. “I trust you know I am deeply in your debt. I will do whatever necessary to repay you.”

  “You do so much good work here, my lady, I beg only that you will continue.”

  “Always,” the countess vowed.

  She took her leave and Hestia went in search of Isaac. She shared everything pertinent and he only nodded in understanding, as always betraying not the slightest bit of surprise or judgment.

  “It should be no hard matter to ask around the clubs and hells and find who is scurrying about so desperately under a large debt,” she said thoughtfully.

  “I should think we can find him in a matter of days,” Isaac agreed.

  “We have so many friends. Surely we can find someone to whisper in the blackguard’s ear. Someone to remind him of the folly of threatening our people?”

  “Consider it done,” Isaac said with determination. Nothing stirred his ire like someone using their power to threaten those less fortunate.

  “Thank you, Isaac.” She allowed all of her gratitude, for this and for so many other reasons, too, to infuse the simple words.

  Her merely nodded and went to work. Hestia drifted back towards her rooms, hoping she could finish her cold breakfast before Stoneacre arrived.

  Stoneacre. His name caused a flutter in her belly she barely had the chance to push away.

  “Ma’am?” Beth floated out of the shadows in the passage.

  Hestia stopped. Beth called her ma’am only when she was upset. “Yes, Beth? Good morning, my dear.”

  “You’re leavin’, ma’am?”

  “I am. But I will return. I always do, Beth. You know that.”

  Beth clutched her arm, which was highly unusual. “Please don’t. Stay behind this time, ma’am.”

  The woman looked truly fearful.

  “I cannot, Beth,” she said gently. “But you are not to worry. You will always be safe here. Always.”

  Pressing her lips together, Beth gazed at Hestia a long moment, then whirled and disappeared around a corner.

  Hestia stared after her, then turned and continued on her way, hoping that was the last surprise she’d have to face this morning.

  The pavement before Half Moon House was filled to overflowing when the carriage pulled up. Stoneacre descended to find a communal farewell taking place, with Hestia the recipient of many hugs and admonishments to take care. He supervised the loading of her luggage and received a few shy farewells of his own—and one long, meaningful glance from Isaac.

  And then they were off. They both sat quietly as the city rolled by, each lost in their own thoughts. The traffic still lay thick about them when they passed the Kensington tollgate and still Hestia did not speak. Stoneacre grew impatient. It was too long a journey to think of leaving matters so. Granted, it was a bit of a relief to find they could pass the time in easy silence, but it would be a waste of a colossal opportunity if he let it continue. He turned his gaze from the window with determination—and found her steadily regarding him. A warm light glowed in her eyes.

  “What occupies your thoughts?” he asked guardedly.

  She colored a bit and shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, I was just thinking of chestnut trees.”

  He blinked, but the corner of her mouth lifted and the back of his neck grew warm. He wanted to press her, but knew better. Yet he did not know how to turn her remark into a conversation, either.

  But she smiled at him, all of her charms at full blaze, and he forgot to worry over it.

  “You’ve been quiet as well. What is weighing on you, Stoneacre?”

  He rallied his thoughts. “Two things,” he admitted.

  “Still wondering about my favorite color? It’s pink. The soft pink of cherry blossoms—also my favorite flower.”

  “Thank you for sharing,” he said seriously.

  “But that’s not what you were wondering about?”

  He shook his head.

  “Care to enlighten me?”

  “Honestly, since you gave Bradford-on-Avon as our destination, I’ve been going around and around in my head, wondering what mischief Marstoke could be fermenting in such a small mill town.”

  “I should think you would know by now that Marstoke can stir up chaos anywhere. Chain him to a church pew in the country and he’ll have the local parishioners in an all-out war within days.”

  “I won’t argue that,” he said wryly.

  “But honestly, that village is not our destination. It is merely the closest spot that is large enough to disguise our presence.”

  “Where are we going, then?”

  “A country house. Small. Out of the way. It sits outside of a hamlet called Farleigh Wick.”

  “Sounds like the perfect spot for a bit of illicit business—and nothing to tempt these London Mesdames to stay after they’ve made their payments.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “Not any longer.”

  Silence fell again, but this time she was the one to break it after a few moments. “What was the second thing weighing on your mind?”

  He said it straight out. “I was wondering if you were the one who absconded with that sack of Marstoke’s papers. The one that went missing so long ago, on the very night that your friend, the Duchess of Aldmere, found his secret office.”

  The atmosphere inside the carriage shifted from languid to crackling in an instant.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “Is that a question, Stoneacre?”

  He lifted a shoulder, a deliberate effort to lessen the tension. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “And do you expect me to answer?”

  “Well, I hope you will,” he said honestly.

  She settled back into her seat, watching him steadily. She took her time before she spoke again. “The answer is yes. And no.”

  He waited.

  “I have the papers. But I did not take them.” She sighed and fond remembrance softened her expression. “Francis brought them to me, thinking to trade them for a place at Half Moon House. Heavens, but she was so young, then. Having been under the care of that pimp, Hatch, she didn’t understand shelter and safety could be had without a price.”

  “Why didn’t you hand them over?” He didn’t hide his faint disapproval.

  “I did relinquish some of them. I had Aldmere mix them in with the ones your people confiscated from the office not long after I realized what they were. Most of that batch was related to bribes and blackmail.”

  He leaned forward. “What did you keep?”

  Another hesitation.

  “Lists. Names. Initials,” she said at last. Thunder furrowed her brow and colored her words. “He kept a record of the women he mistreated, Stoneacre. Long, long lists. I had to recruit a friend to help me, as h
e kept some of it in code, but once it was broken . . .” She swallowed and looked away, out at the passing city outskirts. “It was all there. The trickery. The lies. Hints at the abuse. The ruin of so many. False marriages. Sham betrothals. A multitude of false identities. Women picked off the street and destroyed for his amusement. Others, of all classes, traded to pay debts owed to him.”

  She paused a moment and took a deep breath. “He toys with them. Torments them like a cat with a mouse, before he decides to finish or release them. An opera dancer here. A young woman of good family but not enough protection, there. It is a horrifying list that he continues to add to, to this day.”

  He made a noise of sympathy, but she hadn’t finished. “Worse are the ones he warps. He takes a few and convinces them to play his Great Game. Like pieces on a board, he moves them at his whim and they help him, acting on his behalf to cheat, steal and ruin others. He uses them as weapons, where they will do him the most good or his enemies the worst.”

  “And what did you do with this information?” Because he was sure down to the soles of his boots that she had acted on it.

  She didn’t answer for a long moment. He was not perfectly sure she would. But then she heaved a sigh. “I tracked them down. Am tracking them down. One by one, I’ve searched out the women whose lives have been warped by Marstoke’s touch.”

  “I can only imagine what you’ve found.”

  Swallowing, she nodded. “Yes. Some have been . . . hard. Some were gone already. Others beyond help. But there have been those that we found in time. Still within reach of a kind hand. There have been those, too, that moved beyond the experience, put it behind them and rebuilt their lives.” One corner of her mouth twisted. “Some of those shut the door firmly in my face before I could utter more than a sentence or two. But others, some of those women have become our staunchest allies.”

  You are a wonder. He wanted to say it.

  “Does he know?” he asked instead.

  She shrugged. “If he does, he does not care. He’s finished with them. What happens to them now, matters naught.”