To Claim the Long-Lost Lover

by Jude Knight

  The door opened, and she braced herself to see him, but it was Drew who entered the room, and behind him she could see the entrance hall full of footmen and guards.

  “What happened?” Charlotte asked. A good question. Drew, and the men behind him, looked as if they had been in a fight, or rolling in the mud, or... the reek of smoke gave her a clue... fighting a fire.

  Sarah put her conclusion into words. “Where was the fire?”

  “The Ashbury Clinic,” Drew replied. “Sarah, Bentham sends his apologies. He is helping Ruth and the resident doctor to settle the patients they had to move to the Ashbury townhouse, and is then going home to change and wash.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Charlotte asked.

  Drew shook his head. “A few mild burns, some scratches. We got everyone out ahead of the fire. Put the fire out, too, though there’s extensive damage, especially in the ward upstairs. We still have a building, though.” He chuckled. “Aldridge caught some embers with his hair, and says his valet is probably going to resign.”

  Charlotte paled. “But not... Just his hair, Drew? He is not otherwise hurt?”

  Drew shrugged. “Nothing serious.”

  “What were they all doing there?” Charlotte wondered. “Bentham and Ruth, I can understand, I suppose, though it seems an astonishing coincidence that they were available just when a fire started. But Aldridge?”

  Drew shrugged. “Ruth was visiting, of course, as she does several times a week when she is in town. Just as well, too, for her guard were with her, and thought to send someone here for help. Ruth sent for Val, and Aldridge happened to be with him. Bentham turned up about the same time as I did. To check on a patient, he said.”

  Val was the Earl of Ashbury, Ruth’s husband.

  “I’m going to wash and change, cousins, if you will excuse me. There is more to the message from Bentham, Sarah. He apologises for missing his appointment. He says he will be here as soon as he can, and if you are not available this afternoon, he asks for a dance at the Farmington Ball this evening.”

  “I have a meeting with the Theodora Foundation,” Sarah said. She checked the room’s clock. “And will need to leave here in an hour or so. I will send him a message.”

  Drew rubbed a hand through his hair, looked at his hand, and shook his head. “My apologies, ladies, for coming to you in my dirt.” He bowed himself out, then put his head back around the door. “Take a double guard, Sarah. We think the clinic fire was arson.”

  “My school!” Charlotte protested. “Excuse me, Sarah. I need to see if we can set a guard.”

  10

  Someone had attempted to torch the school, Charlotte told Sarah in the carriage that evening, but several of the resident boys caught the arsonist at it, and put out the fire before it could take hold. “I suspect they were skipping classes to smoke in the alley,” she said. “I would have asked, but I didn’t want to tempt them to lie.”

  “So, who was it?” Sarah asked.

  “That’s the bad news. They called the runners and they took him away. I sent one of our men to question him, and he was gone. A ‘gentleman’ came and vouched for him.”

  “Bribes,” Sarah assumed.

  “Probably. Yahzak says he will find out. And, he will find the ‘gentleman’. He has gone to talk to David Wakefield, Aldridge’s brother.”

  “I spoke to Mrs Wakefield this afternoon,” Sarah commented. “You know the Theodora Foundation has safe houses in the slums? Alex Basingstoke tells me that three of them have been attacked. And Mrs Wakefield has heard of more, including two other ragged schools. That’s why I was late. We went to see the magistrates of all three London districts to warn them that someone is attacking charities that work with slum children and prostitutes.”

  Charlotte asked the obvious question. “Is this revenge for taking Tony and the women out of the brothel?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Perhaps. But surely the Beast knows that he cannot get away with attacking institutions supported by gentry and the nobility? Can Tony help us put the Beast in jail?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “He’s a boy and an orphan from the slums. Even if we put him in front of a judge, the Beast is likely to claim he offered the boy a job. After all, Aldridge didn’t actually see him in the room where he was imprisoned. Aldridge spent an hour with Tony this afternoon, by the way. They were trying to work out how they are related, though they’re certain there is a connection.”

  “Is he Aldridge’s son, do you think?” Sarah asked.

  “Aldridge says not. He was in Scotland at the relevant times, and Tony says his mother lived in London.” Charlotte examined her gloved fingers. “Aldridge takes his family responsibilities very seriously.”

  Whatever Aldridge had been like as a younger man, Sarah thought he now took all his responsibilities very seriously. The stories whispered among the ladies and joked over by the gentlemen were years old, though few people appeared to acknowledge any change.

  The carriage had finally inched its way to the head of the line, and the footman opened the door for the sisters to descend. They expected Drew to be waiting, as he’d said he would meet them at the ball, but instead, Aldridge hovered on the steps and gestured to the footman to step aside so he could hand the ladies down.

  The sisters couldn’t help a quick gasp as he lifted his hat in greeting. His hair had been cropped close to his head, and on one side the skin showed pink and raw. Aldridge ignored the reaction with his usual insouciance. “Lord Andrew has been delayed, my ladies, but my mother is waiting to give you countenance this evening.”

  Charlotte looked about to argue that they were old enough to be able to attend a ball without a chaperone or a male family member, but Sarah nudged her. The throng working their way into the house did not need to be edified by watching Charlotte and Aldridge bicker.

  Aldridge was known for his calm response in every situation. Sarah had only ever seen him become heated in discussion with two people: his half-sister Jessica and her sister Charlotte. And, whatever Charlotte might think, Sarah didn’t think his feelings towards Charlotte were brotherly.

  Speaking of Jessica, she was with the duchess, waiting in the mansion’s entrance hall. She slipped her hand into Sarah’s arm to ask after Elias. “I followed your example and used ‘family matters’ as an excuse to leave early. Aunt Eleanor is trying hard not to say ‘I told you so’. She assured me that I would not enjoy a house party without either her or Aldridge to ensure people treated me with respect.”

  “Was it awful, Jess?”

  Jessica shrugged. “They were not rude to my face, precisely. But they did use your poor little ward as an excuse to bait me. You know the sort of thing—talking about how the base-born should not be allowed to mix with decent people, and then apologising and looking flustered. Lord Colyton was kind, and Lord Hythe, of course. But most of them were horrid.”

  They had to break off to greet Lord and Lady Framington, their hosts. Sarah watched. The pair were as polite and friendly to Jessica as to her and her twin, but perhaps they couldn’t do otherwise under the duchess’s sharp eyes.

  “I am sorry you had a terrible time,” she murmured as they moved on up the stairs.

  Jessica grinned. “I gave as good as I got. I pontificated about hypocrites and whited sepulchres, but very politely and without pointing any fingers. Silly people. We don’t need them, do we, Sarah? Oh, look! Felicity is here! Aunt Eleanor, may I go and talk to Lady Felicity?”

  The Framingtons must have been economising on candles, for only every second one was lit in the widely spaced chandeliers. This made the room too dimly lit and, even this early in the evening, too full of people to be able to pick identities at a distance, but their friend Lady Felicity Belvoir was chatting with friends in the nearest corner of the room, not twenty feet away.

  “We’ll all go,” Charlotte suggested.

  “I will make for the matron’s corner,” the duchess agreed. “Jessica...”

  “I know, Aunt Elea
nor. Stay with my friends, and if I am separated, perhaps to dance, have my escort bring me to you.” Jessica managed to recite the litany without sighing and the duchess smiled.

  “I know it annoys you, my dear, but a young lady needs to be careful.”

  The corner just to the left of the main entrance was, Sarah decided, as they exchanged greetings with their friend, an excellent place for Nate to find her. With that in mind, she had only half her attention on the conversation, the rest cataloguing the guests as they poured into the already crowded room, or trooped out on their way to some other entertainment.

  More of the first than the second, so by the time the Earl and Countess of Lechton came in through the door, Nate a few feet behind them, the room had gone from ‘crowded’ to ‘a crush’ to ‘a sad crush’, and all four ladies had surrendered their dance cards several times to would-be partners.

  Nate looked around, saw Sarah, and came straight to her. “Good evening, my lady.” He remembered his manners and greeted Charlotte, who introduced him to Felicity and Jessica, but he delighted Sarah by being too flustered for more than a bow and a polite greeting, turning immediately to her to ask, “Did you get my message, my lady?”

  “I did. I am sorry I had another errand this afternoon. You were not hurt in the fire, I hope?”

  Then Felicity had to know what she was talking about, Jessica had to describe her shock at her brother’s scorching, and Nate downplayed the event while casting glances sideways at Sarah. He was clearly wondering how to extricate himself from the conversation so he could talk to her.

  She was about to ask him to escort her for a walk around the room when Lord Farmington called for attention and announced that the dancing was about to begin, and her first partner emerged out of the hordes to claim her.

  “I have you down for the supper dance, my lord,” she told Nate in an aside. “I will be waiting for you in the far corner—the one on the right at the other end of the ballroom.”

  Nate gazed after her as she left. She could feel the weight of his eyes, not just then, but throughout the next two hours, as she accomplished three more sets with different partners, all the time thinking about what Nate might have to tell her to justify his long absence.

  She had promised Uncle James she would listen. Indeed, she would have done so without any such promise. Elias needed a father, and here he was. And, apparently, her stupid heart didn’t care about his abandonment, and her even more foolish body was convinced it belonged to him. She could feel herself melt when he was near, and she’d never done that for anyone else.

  If he had even a ghost of an excuse, she would have to get to know him again. Not more than that. She didn’t trust him, and she wasn’t sure he could mend that. She wouldn’t marry without trust, but she would give him a hearing.

  * * *

  The supper dance was a good choice. The first in the set was a line dance. If he chose a group with a long line, particularly if he positioned them well, they could spend a fair part of the time standing out, waiting for their turn in the patterns. The second was a waltz. He realised his hopes were setting him up for disappointment, but she had already softened to him. If she softened more after hearing what he had to say, he would be able to hold her in his arms again, even if it was on a dance floor, surrounded by half of the Polite World.

  Lady Framington introduced him to a young lady as a suitable partner, so he took her out onto the floor. Then his father had one of his insipid maidens to present him to, a Miss Tremaway, daughter of a viscount. He escaped both her father and his by asking her for a dance, as well.

  The next set was the one before the supper dance. He managed to avoid both his hostess and his father, prowling the end of the room where he was to meet Sarah. She was out on the floor, he noted, but Drew was in the corner where she’d told him to meet her, talking to a man who must be the Duke of Winshire. Yes, and the duke was sitting with the Duchess of Haverford, wife of his sworn enemy. He would have to ask Libby more about the relationship between the families.

  Nothing, though, could long take his attention from Sarah, and he started for the corner when the musicians brought the current dance to a swirling end. He reached it before her, and Drew greeted him cheerfully. “Bentham! Have you seen Aldridge this evening?”

  “Quite a haircut,” Nate agreed. The hair had been singed away on one side, though the burns where it had caught fire were minor. They’d put the flames out quickly, and his clothes had protected his shoulder and arm, though the coat was a loss. Nate had smothered his head with salve, and the man would be fine, but he had presented an odd appearance, with hair long enough to touch his collar on one side and nothing on the other.

  Since then, he’d had the whole head all but shaved. Anyone else might have stayed at home, but Aldridge ignored any change in his appearance as if it didn’t exist. Except, perhaps, there was method in it.

  Nate was familiar with the signs. The marquis had been pursuing Lady Charlotte, and she wanted nothing to do with him. But tonight, she was dancing with him. The action was unusual enough to have the ballroom buzzing.

  Nate silently wished him luck, and tried to focus his attention as Drew presented him to the Duchess of Haverford and then to the Duke of Winshire. The older people exchanged a glance full of speculation. “You have a previous acquaintance with my niece,” the duke said.

  I am her husband, Nate wanted to shout, but he wouldn’t make the claim until Sarah gave him leave. And until he was certain that the marriage stood, he supposed. In his heart, though, he was and always would be Sarah’s whether their union had been legal or not; whether it had been annulled or not; whether she would let him love her again or not.

  There she was. Yes, and Charlotte with Aldridge, who sent him a smile from one sufferer to another.

  Nate endured a few more pleasantries, and at last offered Sarah his arm. “Let us skip the dance and find somewhere quiet to talk,” Sarah said.

  Nate looked at the doors to the terrace, tightly shut against the rain.

  Sarah shook her head. “Not outside, and we can only talk at a shout in the ballroom, but the supper room should be quiet at the moment.”

  She guided him down the length of the room, across to the far wall, and through double doors in the corner, giving a sigh of relief as they stepped out of the noise and the heat.

  It was another massive room, with tables set up at the far end. Near them, a dozen or more people already occupied some of the arranged groups of sofas and chairs, conversing or just resting from the activity in the next room.

  Sarah led him to chairs a short distance from everyone else. “We can talk in private, without risk to your reputation and mine,” she explained.

  Again, Nate wanted to protest. His soul proclaimed he was her husband, and being private with her was no scandal, but rather the very definition of heaven! Not yet. First, he had an explanation to make, if he could only find the words to start.

  “You left, Nate,” Sarah said, when he remained silent. The desolation in her tone had his story tumbling from his lips, his fear of saying the wrong thing submerged by his desperate need to save her pain.

  “I was abducted. You know the corner where our lane branched off from the road to the village? They were waiting in the trees. They jumped me as I passed. Three great brutes and your brother Elfingham. He stood back to see that I was thoroughly beaten.” He hadn’t meant to tell her the details, but perhaps it was for the best.

  Sarah put a gentle hand on his arm. “They beat you? Oh, Nate.”

  He thrilled to her touch, every nerve under her hand suddenly at high alert. For a moment, he lost track of his story, but then he continued, “I tried to tell Elfingham that we were married; that you were my wife. He said it wasn’t true, and if it was, the marriage would be annulled. I was being sent on a long sea voyage, and your father had arranged a marriage for you. I think your father was there too. I remember someone saying you’d be married within the month. They kept punching me and k
icking me, and I must have passed out.”

  She slid her hand down to his and squeezed it, nibbling at her upper lip, her eyes brimming with tears. “Father came to our cottage. He told me that you had lied about our marriage, that you had taken money to leave me. I didn’t believe him, Nate. But weeks passed and then months, and you didn’t return.”

  “I couldn’t. I woke up a week later, far out at sea.” No need to mention the occasional surfacing into pain and nausea during the trip to the coast and the early part of the voyage. “When I demanded to speak to the captain, explained I had to get back to my wife, they laughed. My father had signed me over to the navy. I was enrolled for ten years as a common seaman, and I would not be allowed off the ship for any reason for at least the duration of the war. Much use I was going to be, he said.” Even if he hadn’t had several broken ribs, a broken arm, and who knew what internal injuries, he was a total landlubber.

  “But you got away. For here you are,” Sarah pointed out, “and, if gossip is true, you went to Edinburgh before the peace was signed.”

  The power of the ton’s vast whispering chamber. “The ship’s surgeon, Lieutenant Macintosh, wasn’t that bad a sort. He took me on as a loblolly boy—a sort of assistant—as soon as I was well enough to be of use. When he found I knew a bit about rough first aid, he kept me on, and trained me as a ship’s surgeon. By the time we’d been two years away, I no longer did much crew work. And after three years, Macintosh said I was ready to move to another ship in the fleet as their surgeon, and they made me a ship’s surgeon, acting.”

  That still left four years, but he wanted to know about Sarah. And he wanted to keep her thinking hard enough that she didn’t notice she still held his hand. “He didn’t make you marry? Your father?”

  She shook her head. “I was—ill, after you left.”