The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  Wickett shook his head. “No, my lord. It’s one of those gothic novels all the ladies are talking about … Nocturnal Visit.”

  “Nocturnal Visit?” Vane snorted. Wickett enjoyed testing his patience. “Let me guess. It’s about a man who gets lost in the fog at night and is ravaged by a wolf instead of an angel.”

  Wickett shook his head. “I’ve got to the part where the lady realises her friends only like her when she has money. And now some fancy nabob has come and is turning her head with his flowery words and pretty talk.”

  “Sounds rather like a night in a London ballroom.”

  “That’s why the lady chose it. Happen there’s a message in the title as well as on the inside page.”

  What the hell was Wickett talking about? “Are you referring to the plot?”

  Wickett frowned. “No, my lord, I’m talking about the lady who came and asked me to pass on the message.”

  “You mean the book really is entitled Nocturnal Visit?”

  Gripping the reins with one hand, Wickett grabbed the book, reached down and gave it to Vane. “See, take a look for yourself.”

  Vane examined the words embossed in gold on the spine. “They say Regina Roche is more popular than Ann Radcliffe.” He flicked to the first page, to the feminine script suggesting the sender make a late-night call to his house on Berkeley Square. It was signed in a delicate flourish. The lady wanted him to be in no doubt as to her identity.

  “The lady’s maid was most insistent I accept the gift, my lord.”

  “Burn it once we’re home.” Lady Cornell was quickly becoming a nuisance. “On second thought, I’ll keep hold of it for now.” He had no intention of granting her request but might need to use it as leverage at a later date.

  Wickett nodded. “Are we to head back to the square?”

  Vane considered the question. His time should be spent thinking of a way to ruin Lord Cornell — a legitimate way that would shame the fool. He should pry into the lord’s affairs, look for anything to use against him. But all thoughts turned to Estelle and her meeting with Mr Hungerford.

  “Take me to Mr Joseph in Whitechapel.”

  Now that Estelle had made a sudden appearance, Vane would give the runner another task to occupy his time. He wanted to know everything about Mr Hungerford. Specifically, why a gentleman of his status was keen to court a shopgirl?

  Vane found Joseph in The Speckled Hen tavern, tucking into a meat pie. He sat at his usual table in a dingy corner next to the hearth. The man’s hard, sculpted jaw looked capable of taking more than a few punches. His eyes made him handsome in a rugged sort of way. They were an intense shade of blue, as inviting as a warm sea to a woman, as cold as ice should anyone rouse his ire. While he had once worked in Bow Street, now he worked for himself, conducted his business from the tavern, and paid the landlord handsomely for the privilege.

  The low beamed ceilings proved difficult to navigate for a man of Vane’s height. With a slight stoop, he made his way to the bar, paid for two tankards of ale and instructed the serving wench to bring them to the table.

  Witnessing Vane’s approach, Joseph gestured to the chair opposite. “My lord. We don’t often see you around these parts during daylight hours.”

  The rotten smell of open gutters permeated the air, banishing the scent of sweat and unwashed clothes.

  Vane gestured to the open window. “Do you mind?”

  Joseph snorted. “You get used to it,” he said, reaching up and pulling the window shut. “I’ve had no luck finding the lady. Seems you’re right about her perishing on that ship.”

  “There’s no need to keep looking. The lady found me.”

  Had Fate thrown them together? Had Destiny a hand in their reunion? Had he learned whatever cruel lesson the Lord intended and so seeing Estelle again was his reward?

  The landlord, a man with a dirty complexion and unkempt side whiskers, came with their drinks. He scanned Vane’s immaculate attire and eyed Joseph in such a manner as to enquire if he needed assistance.

  “Nothing to worry about, Fred,” Joseph said, accepting the tankards.

  With a suspicious frown which looked to be a permanent expression, Fred shuffled away as if expecting to lose the soles of his shoes.

  “So you have no need for my services now you’ve found her.” Joseph shovelled a forkful of pie into his mouth and washed it down with a swig of ale.

  “There is something else I need you to do. I want you to find out everything you can about a Mr Hungerford.”

  “Hungerford, you say? Shouldn’t be too difficult what with it being an unusual name.” Joseph wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “You’ll have his address tonight.” Vane decided he would venture to Whitecombe Street this evening, purely with the intention of spying. “His wife died recently, so I’m told.” Vane thought back to the night Estelle and the Erstwhiles stumbled upon him in the alley. They had not walked far. “I’d wager he lives somewhere in the vicinity of Longacre. Perhaps begin your search for his wife with the records at St Clement Danes. I imagine that’s the closest church.”

  Joseph nodded. He withdrew a notebook and pencil and took down the information. “I’ll send the nod to Wickett when I find something of interest.”

  Vane retrieved a few sovereigns from his pocket and slid them across the crude wooden table. “I’ll pay you ten pounds when you’ve found out what I need to know. And you can keep the money I gave you to find Miss Darcy.”

  The runner grinned. “If only all fine folk were as generous. I’ll ask around the area, see if anyone knows him while I wait for his address. I’ve a man who can slip in and out of a house without the owner never knowing he was there.”

  It was suddenly apparent why he no longer worked for Bow Street. Vane proceeded to give Joseph a description of his quarry, one that incorporated the words fop and coward.

  “How soon do you want the information?” Joseph scratched his head with the end of the pencil. “It will help to know how many men to put on the job.”

  “Find something of interest within the next twenty-four hours and I shall double your pay.”

  The man’s eyes flashed with excitement. “By something of interest am I to take it you mean something shady?”

  “Any information that might make a lady shun his company.”

  Joseph took a swig of ale from his tankard. “Anything else you need me to do?”

  Vane was about to say no, but another idea entered his head. “Do you still have a man in France, in Calais?”

  Joseph nodded. “Like I said before, he ain’t cheap. And it won’t be a quick job for obvious reasons.”

  “Do I look like a man who cares about money?” Vane paused. “The men I want him to track down are of a criminal element. I expect it will be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous you say. Do I look like a man who cares about that?” Joseph narrowed his gaze. “Are we talking smugglers then?”

  “Find out everything you can about Monsieur and Madame Bonnay from Wissant. The woman died four years ago, and they found the man dead in the woods not long after. I should like to know who took over the smuggling operation. Find out if they have any family.”

  One of the smugglers had offered to marry Estelle, or so she’d said. Was that part of the reason she moved from place to place?

  Vane pushed out of the chair and stood. “If you need to know anything else, send word to Wickett. Oh and have a man watch Lord Cornell’s house in Bedford Square. I would like to know where he goes and what he does.” Before Joseph could respond, Vane added, “I don’t care how many men it takes or what the cost.”

  Joseph gave a curt nod. “At this rate, I’ll be able to afford a fancy carriage of my own.”

  It was almost five o’clock when Vane returned to Berkeley Square. Bamfield greeted him at the door and with some reluctance informed him of the new arrival.

  “His lordship is upstairs,” Bamfield said with m
ild indifference. If butlers were as honest as coachmen, he might have added making love to his wife. “Lady Farleigh desired a change of clothes after the long journey.”

  The long journey? Everleigh was but twenty miles away.

  Vane considered grabbing his hat and marching out of the door. Was this to be further punishment for his licentious past? Was he to spend a sleepless night listening to the sounds of true love knowing every encounter he’d ever had fell hopelessly short?

  “I shall be in the drawing room for the time being. But ask Pierre to pack the necessaries. I intend to return to Hanover Square this evening.”

  He could not avoid his home forever. But it was the lesser of two evils. He would rather be tormented by painful memories than sit and witness exaggerated displays of affection.

  Bamfield’s expression remained impassive. “I shall convey your message at once, my lord. Might I ask if you will dine with Lord and Lady Farleigh this evening?”

  The question drew his mind back to Estelle’s meeting with Mr Hungerford. “No. I shall dine at my club.” Vane doubted Farleigh would leave his bedchamber for the rest of the day. Besides, he had no intention of spending the night at home, not when he hoped to spy on Estelle.

  The sweet sound of feminine laughter filtered down to the hall. Lady Farleigh appeared on the top stair, accompanied by her besotted husband. Happiness radiated from her like a brilliant beacon. Farleigh looked different, too: content and thoroughly satisfied.

  “Lord Trevane,” Rose said as though pleased to see him. She came forward with graceful poise, grasped his hands and held them tightly. “Christian has been telling me all about your poor Miss Darcy. But isn’t it wonderful that you’ve found her?”

  Vane was about to offer a customary reply, but the sudden swelling of his heart gave him pause. Wonderful did indeed describe recent events. Painful but wonderful all the same.

  “And I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to hear Lillian is wed,” Rose continued. It seemed she had an ability to use one concise word to convey his feelings. He was just as thrilled for Lillian, too. “And it’s good to know Lord Ravenscroft is not really a pirate.”

  “Indeed” was all Vane managed to say.

  “Come,” Rose said with some excitement, “let’s sit in the drawing room and you can tell me all about Miss Darcy.”

  Vane glanced at Farleigh who mouthed a silent apology.

  Rose threaded her arm through Vane’s. “Oh, I know that’s the last thing you want to talk about, but it might help to have a lady’s perspective.”

  She was right. His thoughts and feelings were his own, and he had no intention of sharing them with anyone. But in the space of two minutes, Rose had proved to be remarkably perceptive. Perhaps she could offer useful advice to help him persuade Estelle to share her secrets.

  “Rose shares my view,” Farleigh informed, “that something untoward must have forced Miss Darcy to flee Prescott Hall.”

  “Indeed.” Rose’s gaze drifted over his face. “What reason could a lady have for not wanting to marry you?”

  “I can think of a few.”

  Rose shrugged. “Yes, you can be quite frightening when in one of your morbid moods. Can’t most men?”

  Vane cleared his throat. “That wasn’t what I had in mind but thank you for drawing my attention to an obvious flaw in my character.”

  Rose blushed. “Forgive me, I only meant—”

  “I am teasing you,” he said. “When it comes to flaws, patience is not a skill I have mastered. Nor do I have the ability to remain calm when anger burns hot inside.”

  So much for keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. This lady possessed an ability to draw out the truth without him even putting up a fight.

  Vane glanced at Farleigh as Rose led him into the drawing room. A smile formed when he noted his friend’s crumpled cravat. The lord had obviously dressed in a hurry for he’d missed a button on his waistcoat, too.

  While Farleigh visited the drinks table to pour them both a glass of brandy, Rose settled into the seat by the fire and gestured for Vane to sit opposite.

  “I have decided to return to Hanover Square,” Vane said before Rose brought up the subject of Estelle. Making the announcement aloud made it more difficult to change his mind.

  Decanter in hand, Farleigh stopped pouring and glanced over his shoulder. “You’re leaving here? May I ask why?”

  Rose sat forward. “I don’t suppose it feels like home when we arrive unannounced.”

  “This is your home, not mine,” Vane said humbly. “You’re free to do as you please and I’m grateful to Christian for providing an alternative place to stay when we returned from Italy.”

  The thought of going back to Hanover Square filled him with dread. The same frightful memory played over in his mind. Dawn approached as he ambled up the steps after a night spent in the company of Lady Monroe. The scent of exotic perfume clung to his clothes as did a whiff of stale tobacco. His butler, Marley, had long since gone to bed, and so Vane had let himself in with a key.

  It was dark but not quiet.

  The sound of whimpering drew him to the hunched figure sitting on the cold marble stairs. Upon hearing the door close, Lillian looked up. He would never forget her swollen face, blotchy red cheeks, and sad eyes ringed with black shadows. She jumped up and hurried down to the hall, flung her arms around his neck and sobbed as she told him of her ordeal.

  It was his responsibility to protect his sister. But he’d been too occupied with trying to find a cure for his malaise, trying to cure the mental and physical discomfort that plagued him since losing Estelle.

  “I am to blame,” Rose said, dragging Vane from his reverie. “But with us being so recently married you see, I just couldn’t stay away.” She glanced at her husband, and one could not miss the sensual undertone in her smile.

  From experience, Vane distrusted the look of love, but all those around him seemed determined to prove him wrong.

  “No one is to blame,” he said. “The time has come for me to return. I cannot avoid the place forever.”

  “The ghosts of the past only haunt us if we let them.” Farleigh handed Vane a glass of brandy and moved to stand behind Rose. “I should know.” He put a hand on Rose’s shoulder, and she covered it with her own.

  “Has Miss Darcy explained what prompted her to leave home and journey to France?” Rose spoke softly as though that somehow lessened the impact of such a blunt question.

  Vane cleared his throat. “I have yet to ask her.”

  “I see.” Rose sat back in the chair.

  Damnation. Despite having told this woman far too much already, he had no intention of admitting he was too terrified to hear the truth. He should leave now.

  “We all have our crosses to bear,” Rose continued. “My father made life impossible, a living nightmare. Perhaps Miss Darcy’s father did the same.”

  “Lord Ravenscroft was a kind-hearted man, too trusting of character.” Vane’s father had lured him into a mining venture that had little hope of success. Ravenscroft’s losses were heavy. “But he loved his daughter.”

  A look akin to pity flashed in Rose’s eyes. “Forgive me, but what we believe and what is true are two very different things. Let me tell you that a young lady does not leave her only means of security, be it emotional or financial, unless the consequences of staying outweigh the danger of leaving.”

  What the hell was she saying?

  “So, Estelle would rather risk her life on a perilous voyage than marry me?” He had thought the same for years. But the way Estelle had looked at him, the way she’d kissed him at the coaching inn, convinced him she felt something.

  Perhaps the injury to his head had muddled his mind.

  “What Rose is trying to say,” Lord Farleigh interjected, “is that perhaps another factor affected her decision. One that made it impossible to stay. Perhaps her father insisted she marry someone else. You told me once before, your father practically ruined Lord Rave
nscroft. Perhaps he held a grudge. Perhaps you were the last person in the world he would permit his daughter to marry.”

  Vane shook his head. “Lord Ravenscroft was just as hurt and confused by Estelle’s sudden departure.” Her father blamed himself, rambled on about reading the signs, about misplaced trust.

  “Then perhaps she doubted your loyalty.”

  Farleigh’s comment struck like a sword to the heart.

  “I would have done anything for her,” Vane said fervently. The immense power of the words filled his chest. Give him twenty rogues in an alley, and he could beat every one of them. He sat forward. “I would have given away my birthright, sheared sheep, farmed the land.” His love for Estelle burst free of its shackles to flood his body with a warm glow. “She was my life, my love, my everything.”

  God damn. He’d not meant to say that aloud.

  A pained silence filled the room.

  Farleigh stared at him with pursed lips, although his solemn expression was soon replaced with a weak smile. “It’s about time you were honest with yourself. Perhaps you can salvage something from this. Perhaps it’s not too late.”

  He wanted to say that too much had happened, that they could never reclaim what they once had. He wanted to contradict any words spoken in pride, to say that a part of him would still sacrifice his life to save her.

  Vane placed his drink on the side table and stood. “Thank you for your time and your hospitality.” He took Rose’s hand and bowed. “But I must see if Pierre is ready to leave. I have an evening appointment that I cannot miss.”

  Farleigh strode over to the drinks table and placed his glass on the tray. “I’ll walk with you.”

  Vane was venturing as far as the hall, not heading out on a pilgrimage to Rome.

  Once out in the hall, Farleigh stopped and put his hand on Vane’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome here and at Everleigh. I shall remain in town for a few days. Perhaps we might meet for supper tomorrow evening?”