by Brenda Hiatt
The old woman pinkened under the Duke's shrewd gaze. For a moment, Pearl's confidence wavered. Could it all be a sham?
But, "Nay, Yer Grace," Mrs. Steadman replied. "I'm not much of one for readin', though Lady Dorothea did try to teach me. Just never took to it, except to learn to sign my name and such."
"I see." The Duke's expression softened into a smile. "I'd say you were a good and faithful servant to your mistress, Mrs. Steadman."
Then, turning to Pearl, "My dear, if Mr. Knox, or di Santo, or whatever he calls himself, can substantiate that he is the boy named in these diaries, I believe we'll have a case to put before the House of Lords for transferance of the title. Send for the lad at once, so I may talk to him."
"Of course." Pearl's spirits were soaring now.
The Duke continued, "A murder conviction is still extremely doubtful, you realize. Lord Hardwyck's influence—"
"I understand." She refused to worry about that just now. The important thing was that Luke assume his rightful position. "Perhaps we can leave it to Mr., er, Knox himself whether he wishes to pursue those charges. Thank you, Father."
The Duke stood and bowed as she and Mrs. Steadman took their leave. Once outside the library, Pearl turned to the old woman. "Would you like to see your Master Luke, Mrs. Steadman?"
"Oh, aye, milady! Can you bring me to him?"
"I'll bring him to you, instead. Hettie?" She turned to her maid, who had been hovering in the corridor. "Take Mrs. Steadman to the servants' wing and see that she is made comfortable, then call for the carriage. We have another visit to pay."
* * *
When he rounded the corner and again saw a dark blue carriage waiting in front of his building, Luke experienced a disorienting sense of having lived this moment before. After only the briefest pause, however, he hurried forward.
He was in a far better mood today than the last time the carriage had appeared. Many times over the past few days he'd regretted his curt dismissal of Pearl after the good she had tried to do him. Now he had a chance to make things right —and to share his story, which she was sure to find as amusing as he did.
Pearl sat drumming her gloved fingers on the edge of the open carriage window as she stared up at his building, an impatient, thoughtful expression on her face. He watched her for a moment, then tapped on the door right next to her. She started violently, then smiled —and it was like the sun bursting forth on a dreary day, chasing away the doldrums.
"Luke! I had nearly given up. No one answered my knock, nearly an hour since, and—"
"And you've waited here that long? I told you last time you are not safe here, as you should know well after your own experiences." Though he tried to be severe, he could not hide his delight at seeing her again.
Her answering grin told him she noticed —and shared that delight, which sent a thrill of something even stronger than desire through him. "Come, we must speak again," she said, opening the carriage door for him. "I have further news."
As before, he entered to sit beside her. "I have news as well," he told her. "Shall I go first, or would you rather?"
"Tell me your news first," she said, gazing up at him with a rapt expression in her lovely violet-blue eyes.
Luke was assailed by a vivid memory of their one night together —her touch, her sighs . . . He had to tear his own gaze away to focus his thoughts. "Very well," he said after what he hoped was not too obvious a pause. "I have spoken with my uncle."
"Spoken with him!" Clearly this was not what she had expected. "You mean you confronted him? With the truth?"
"You could say that. Though the truth actually came from him. I persuaded him to a full confession." He grinned, enjoying her astonishment.
"He confessed? To you? How . . .? When . . .? But he has left Town, has he not?"
"Night before last, I would imagine. Pity, really —I had high hopes of extorting money from him, but that will be difficult with him somewhere in the country. And one might say that he did not precisely confess to me," he clarified, still grinning. "It was my father's ghost who induced him to come clean."
Hettie, seated across from them, let out a small squeak, but comprehension began to dawn in Pearl's eyes. "It was you who haunted Hardwyck House!" she exclaimed. "I should have guessed it."
"My God, you're quick! Yes, it was I. Once I discovered that I bear an uncanny resemblance to my late father, it seemed the obvious thing to do."
Pearl began to chuckle. "I wish I had been there to see it! Oh! The night before last, you say? Is that when you confronted him?"
He nodded, and to his amazement she went off into peals of laughter. His own lips twitched in response, though he was not sure what the joke was. "What?" he asked, when she finally sobered slightly.
Twinkling, her eyes met his. "He accompanied us to the theater earlier that evening —to see Hamlet. He seemed uncomfortable in the extreme, especially after a few, ah, comments I had made, and left after the first act . . ."
"Only to come home to the ghost of his murdered brother," Luke finished. "No wonder he caved so quickly! Lord, that's rich!"
When she began laughing again, he joined her, until they were leaning against each other for support. Even Hettie began tittering, if only at the spectacle they presented.
"What a team we have made," he said, as soon as he could speak again. "And now, what was your news?"
Pearl sobered, though she had to wipe the tears of laughter from her eyes. "More proof," she said. "Luke, you must come with me—that's why I came today." He started to shake his head, but she laid her hand on his sleeve beseechingly. "Please, Luke. You must!"
"No, my lady, I'm sorry. I—"
With an impatient exclamation, she rapped on the roof of the carriage. At once the coachman whipped up the horses —clearly a prearranged signal. Luke was startled, but not particularly worried, traces of his earlier amusement still lingering.
"Lady Pearl, are you kidnapping me?" he demanded, only half serious.
The look she gave him was enigmatic, making him suddenly uneasy. "I suppose you could say that," she replied. "It is for your own good, however, I promise."
Unease turned into alarm. "What do you mean? Where are you taking me?" He reached for the door. "I can't just—"
"Of course you can." She still clung to his sleeve. "Luke, you must realize by now that you can't allow a man like your uncle to retain a position of power. His retreat to the countryside is only temporary. Eventually, he's likely to discover who you are, what you did to him. Before that happens, you need to be stronger than he is."
Luke stared at her. "I knew that you were ambitious, but I thought you understood that I am not. Do what you wish with your own life, but don't seek to order mine. I'm not one of your social improvement projects."
Pain lanced through her eyes, but she did not release him from her grasp or her gaze. "But you are. I don't mean only to improve you, Luke. My goal is the betterment of society. You are merely one means to that end."
"So I am but a tool," he said, his voice as cold as her words made him feel inside. "I fear I must decline to be put to such noble use, my lady."
Her expression became shuttered, distant, as she directed her gaze out the window. "It is too late for that now. We're here."
Even as she spoke, the carriage halted. A liveried footman opened the door and lowered the steps. The imposing facade of Oakshire House loomed over them. For one mad moment, Luke considered bolting, then realized how foolish that would be. He was not under arrest, or in any real danger, even if Pearl —his Pearl —had suddenly become a stranger to him.
He sent her a long, searching look. She met it defiantly, with uplifted chin. Without a word, he turned and stepped out of the carriage, then followed the footman inside, where he was greeted by the Oakshire butler —the same one who had caught him with Lady Glinnon's counterfeit jewels.
"His grace will see you in the library," the butler informed him, evincing not the slightest flicker of recognition.<
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Luke resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at Pearl before proceeding to the indicated room —the one where he had confessed to her the truth about his past. The butler swung the door wide, and he found himself facing the Duke of Oakshire across a polished mahogany desk.
"My daughter informs me we have an injustice to remedy," the Duke said to him without preamble, waving him to the chair opposite. "To do so, I'll need your cooperation, Mr., ah, hm. I suppose 'Knox' will do for the moment, though I understand it's a name you've never used."
Warily, Luke took the seat indicated. No, he was not under arrest, but he might as well be. Instead of a cage of stone and iron bars, it appeared he was headed for a gilded one— and he could see no way of escape.
* * *
Pearl sent Hettie to fetch Mrs. Steadman from the servants' wing, then followed Luke into the library. He had not looked at her since leaving the carriage —not that she could blame him. For the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for what she had forced him to.
"Don't hover there, girl," her father said with a frown, as she stood uncertaintly by the double doors. "Take a seat or leave us alone. We have a lot to discuss."
Still Luke did not turn. Though she suspected he'd have preferred her gone, she could not bear to miss this. She moved forward and took a seat off to the side, out of the way—and out of Luke's line of sight. The Duke quirked an eyebrow at her, clearly surprised that she did not join them at the desk, but then turned his attention back to the man facing him.
"How long have you been aware that you are the son of James Knox, fourth Earl of Hardwyck, lad?"
"Less than a week, your grace," Luke answered in an emotionless voice.
"You never sought the truth of your parentage before this?" The Duke was clearly skeptical.
"I had no reason to," Luke replied in the same flat tone. "I was happy with my life as it was." This, Pearl knew, was directed at her. She was glad he could not see her flinch.
"An enviable state," the Duke agreed. "And I presume you had no reason to doubt whatever explanation your mother gave you?"
Before Luke could answer, the library door opened, admitting Mrs. Steadman. "Master Luke?" Her voice quavered uncertainly.
Now he turned, and a fond smile spread across his face, in marked contrast to the coldness Pearl had last seen there. "Nanna!" he exclaimed, rising to greet her.
The old woman hobbled forward as quickly as her aged legs would carry her, to be enfolded in the tall man's arms. "I never thought I was like to see you again," she exclaimed on a sob. "Look how big you've growed! Your lady mother would be so pleased . . . "
"So you knew?" Luke looked down at the small, wizened figure. "All those years, you knew, Nanna?"
"Aye. Your mother swore me to secrecy out of fear of your uncle, but I knew. She meant to tell you once you were growed, but she never had the chance —nor did I."
The affection with which he regarded the old nurse tugged at Pearl's heart. She sat perfectly still, unwilling to remind Luke of her presence, waiting to see how the reunion would play out.
"Until now," Luke said. Despite her stillness, he flicked a quick glance at Pearl—a glance that chilled her.
Mrs. Steadman nodded, still gazing up at him worshipfully. "Now you can do as your mother would have wished."
"And what might that be?" Though Pearl caught the ominous note in his voice, the old nurse seemed oblivious.
"Why, to take your rightful place, and pay back all the evil Mr. Wallis Knox done. To set things to rights. You always was a good, honest boy, Master Luke, if a bit of a rapscallion at times." She patted his arm affectionately. "You deserve the good life you was born to, where Mr. Wallis never did."
His jaw tightened with a spasm of some strong emotion, and for a moment Pearl thought he would refuse. But then his expression softened again, and he smiled down at his old nurse. "Very well, Nanna, I'll do as you ask. For my mother —and for you."
But not for me. Pearl realized she had alienated him irrevocably with her high-handed management of his life. He would do the right thing, because that was the sort of man he was, but he would never forgive her for forcing him to this.
Taking Mrs. Steadman by the hand, Luke led her to the chair next to his, and faced the Duke again. "Very well, your grace. Tell me what I need to do."
The enormity of what she had lost swept over Pearl. Before her anguish could betray itself in the tears she felt pricking behind her eyes, she rose and hurried from the room. Once outside the library, she leaned against the carved door frame and gave herself over to her grief, heedless of the footmen passing by.
She had achieved her goal. She had dragged Luke into her world, as she had intended from the first. But a wider gulf stretched between them than ever—a gulf of her own making.
CHAPTER 15
Luke was finding his gilded cage every bit as confining as he had feared, and even more tedious. No sooner had he completed one thick stack of paperwork or one hearing at the College of Heralds than another had to be dealt with. As May progressed, the fogs disappeared, to be replaced by lovely sunshine, but Luke could enjoy none of it, sequestered as he was at Ibbetson's Hotel, dealing with the interminable business of claiming his title.
A low whine distracted him from the papers spread before him. Glancing up, he saw Argos scrabbling at the door to go out, and sent him a smile of sympathy.
"Can I walk him about a bit, sir, er, me lord?" asked Flute diffidently. Luke had made a detour into Seven Dials to fetch them both before installing himself here for the duration, though now he wondered whether that had been a kindness.
"No reason you two have to stay holed up here," he replied. "Go enjoy the day—but be discreet. We don't know that the Runners have called off the search yet. And 'sir' is fine— nothing is settled yet."
Flute grinned at him uncertainly, clearly still at a loss how to relate to Luke as his fortunes shifted. "We'll be back in an hour or two," he said, heading into the other room. "I'll just get my cap and Arogs' lead—if I can get him to hold still for it."
Luke sighed wistfully, wishing with all his heart that he could go with them. He'd far rather be roaming the streets of London, taking each day as it came, living by his wits and luck. The apparently permanent loss of that carefree lifestyle was a constant ache.
And then, of course, there was Pearl.
For the first day or two, he'd been furious at what she'd done, plucking him from his world for her own supposedly noble purposes, giving him no choice in the matter. As the days stretched into weeks, however, he realized that she had only done what he'd most admired about her— acted on her own conscience and principles, regardless of the cost.
And the cost had not been trifling, for her or for him. He'd caught a glimpse of her face as she'd left her father's library —the last time he'd seen her. The loss of his respect, his friendship, had cut her to the quick, that was clear. He looked forward to the time when he could tell her she had not lost those things at all. But when that time might be, he had no idea.
For his life was no longer his own. The transfer of an illustrious title like Hardwyck could scarcely be kept quiet. The Regent himself had summoned Luke for an interview once the Duke of Oakshire apprised him of the news. An impressive figure, for all the cartoonists lampooned him. Luke had been hard pressed to keep his awe at bay so that he could answer the questions put to him.
The press had sniffed it out within days, plastering it on the front pages of every paper. Now all of Society was doubtless abuzz with the news.
Not that Luke knew firsthand what Society was saying. Though he'd never had any hesitation in pretending to be one of them for his own purposes, he found he couldn't bring himself to join them now. Pretending was one thing. Being was another, and he knew he would feel like a fraud. The distinction seemed vague when he tried to pin it down in his mind, but it constrained him nonetheless.
A tap at the door broke into his all-too-brief moment of reflection. As Flute
was still in the other room striving to convince Argos to allow him to attach the lead to his new collar, Luke rose to answer it himself.
"Good afternoon, my lord," the now-familiar clerk from the College of Heralds greeted him. Luke frowned at the use of the title, which had yet to be officially bestowed upon him.
"Hello, Mr. Tibbetson. More papers to sign? Or am I summoned to answer yet more questions?" he asked resignedly.
Some of the questions about his activities over the past few years had stretched his inventiveness to the utmost. Thus far, however, he had managed to avoid contradicting himself.
"Not yet, my lord, not at the moment," replied the clerk, adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his long nose. "First I have news— word from your uncle, at last."
"Indeed?" Luke's interest revived. The one bit of this business he had actually looked forward to—a confrontation with his uncle —had not yet materialized. "Is he coming to Town to contest my claims?"
"No, my lord." Mr. Tibbetson handed him a lengthy document. "In response to the Prince Regent's suggestion, he has relinquished all claim to the title and attendant properties."
Luke perused the paper handed him. Not only was the title his, pending final approval by the College of Heralds and the House of Lords, but all of the Hardwyck wealth and lands as well. The only thing his uncle reserved to himself was the house in Lincolnshire willed to him at his father's death, to which he had already removed.
In return, no investigation would be made into the circumstances of his brother's death or the fire leading to Luke's own disappearance —matters that had not yet found their way to the papers, as the many hearings had dealt primarily with verifying Luke's identity.
"I see," he said inadequately, fighting a distinct sense of anticlimax. "Then it's over?"
"All but the formalities, my lord— though I warn you that those may drag on for some weeks yet."
Luke couldn't help feeling that it had all been far too easy, despite the tedium of the past two weeks. One very pressing matter still needed to be addressed, however. "When am I likely to have access to my . . . er, money?"