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

by Adele Clee

  Estelle’s jacket and bonnet lay on the seat opposite. He could almost smell the sweet scent of roses that clung to her skin, mingled with the aroma of sated desire. As the carriage rocked back and forth, his mind drifted to the moment he’d thrust into her body to satisfy his craving, a craving that had plagued him for so long.

  Except that he hadn’t sated his need for Miss Darcy.

  He had temporarily fed his addiction.

  Now, the desire to claim her came upon him again. He wanted to see her silky locks splayed over his pillow, wanted to see the heated look in her eyes when she came apart on a bone-shattering shudder. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to unite with her body and soul, to love her and be loved in return.

  When they reached Whitecombe Street, Vane was too impatient to wait for Wickett to descend his box. Instead, he gathered Estelle’s clothes, opened the door and marched into the apothecary shop.

  Mr Erstwhile stood in front of the counter. He wore a monocle as he bent over a man seated on a wooden stool, the pair of tweezers in his hand hovering dangerously close to the fellow’s eye.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” Mr Erstwhile called out while keeping his hand surprisingly steady. “It looks to be a splinter of wood,” he said to the terrified man with his eye held so wide it was almost popping out of its socket. “Now keep still. I think I have it.”

  Vane couldn’t watch and so surveyed the shop by way of a distraction. There was no sign of Estelle or Mrs Erstwhile. Some of the herb drawers were still missing, and only a handful of glass bottles lined the shelves.

  “There we are.” Mr Erstwhile held up the tweezers.

  “Blimey, it felt like a dagger in my eye and yet it’s a tiny thing.” The man blinked several times in rapid succession.

  “It might be sore for a few days.” Mr Erstwhile moved behind the counter, spent a minute or so creating a mixture and handed the bottle to the man waiting. “Bathe the eye three times a day for a week. The main ingredient is eyebright. The flower is known for its restorative qualities.”

  “I’m not sure I can afford the tincture as well,” he stuttered.

  Vane was about to reach into his pocket when Mr Erstwhile said, “There is no charge today. The eyes are the window to the soul, and I couldn’t possibly take a penny to heal something so vital.”

  The man blinked in surprise. He looked at the bottle as if it were made of rare jewels shipped over from the Orient. “God bless you, sir.”

  “And may he bless you, Mr Jenkins.”

  In his excitement, the poor man forgot he couldn’t see clearly and fell into the counter before stumbling out of the shop.

  Mr Erstwhile met Vane’s gaze. “Forgive me, my lord. But such a delicate operation needed my utmost concentration.”

  “Not at all. I imagine that was not your first good deed of the day.”

  The gentleman glanced at the bonnet in Vane’s hand, and the jacket draped over his arm. “Speaking of good deeds, I see you have come to return Miss Brown’s clothes. What a dreadful downpour we had last night. How fortunate you happened upon them in the alley.”

  “Miss Brown told you what happened with Mr Hungerford?” Vane wondered what other secrets the lady had confided. Mr Erstwhile had witnessed enough of their conversation to know passions ran high.

  “Indeed, she did. What a terrible business it is when one cannot stroll the streets for fear of losing their life.” Mr Erstwhile pursed his lips. “It is no life for a lady.”

  The last comment caught Vane short. Something about the way Erstwhile spoke led him to conclude he knew more about his assistant than he let others believe.

  “That is exactly what I have been trying to tell her.”

  Mr Erstwhile smiled. “Forgive an old man for prying, but might I suggest a different approach — listening rather than telling. When one asks questions, invariably there is always an answer. When a man tells, he may never discover the truth.”

  Vane felt like a schoolboy receiving a lecture from the master, but he knew Mr Erstwhile meant well, and he could not deny the wisdom of his words.

  “Is Miss Brown here?” Vane glanced at the door that led from the shop to the living quarters. “I wonder if I might have a moment of her time.”

  A look of pity flashed across the man’s face. He pursed his lips as he came around the counter to stand before Vane. “I’m afraid she feels a little unwell today. Come back tomorrow, and I assure you it will be more than worth your while.”

  Vane studied the man’s kind face. Had Estelle asked Erstwhile to lie on her behalf? He could not tell. Everything about him seemed genuine and sincere.

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “Not at all.” Like a caring father, he patted Vane’s upper arm. “Give her time, my lord. Give her time.”

  One question pushed to the fore. “Has Mr Hungerford called today?”

  “First thing this morning. He, too, was informed of her need to rest.”

  Wickett’s suspicions about Mr Hungerford entered Vane’s mind. “May I ask you something before I leave?”

  “Certainly.”

  “It might sound odd to you, but when you dined at Mr Hungerford’s house did you see any servants?”

  Mr Erstwhile frowned. “I saw the maid. Two other staff were ill, hence the reason he’d been to buy more laudanum. From what I can gather, he treats his staff well and was keen to purchase any medicine they needed.”

  Perhaps Wickett was right. Something was amiss at Mr Hungerford’s house. He should mention it to Mr Joseph.

  “Will you tell Miss Brown I called?” Vane handed Mr Erstwhile Estelle’s outdoor apparel. “Can you remind her to inform me should she become … restless?”

  A knowing smile formed on the gentleman’s lips. “Rest assured, the lady is not going anywhere. Call tomorrow. May I be so bold as to suggest you take the day to consider what is important — the past or the present.”

  This man knew everything it seemed.

  Vane resisted the urge to press him for information. Loyalty flowed like blood through Erstwhile’s veins. Probing him would achieve nothing other than make Vane look desperate.

  Vane inclined his head. “Until tomorrow.” He reached the door and glanced over his shoulder. “I used to think that the past defined the present. I have since come to learn that the opposite is true.” His current state of mind seemed to have helped old wounds heal.

  Mr Erstwhile nodded. “The only thing that matters is how you feel now. After all, what is the past but memories tainted by our imagination?”

  Feeling somewhat at a loss at having to wait another day to speak to Estelle, Vane decided to use the time productively. Having received a note to call on Lord Farleigh, he went there first.

  Bamfield escorted him into the study where Farleigh sat in a wingback chair reading a book. The hard green cover looked similar to the book Wickett was reading.

  “Don’t tell me you’re reading Nocturnal Visit, too,” Vane said with amusement. “Are gothic novels not for ladies? Have you not had enough of dark secrets at the manor and mysterious goings-on in asylums?”

  “Trust me. No one could pen a novel as suspenseful as the events that occurred at Everleigh.” Farleigh turned the book over and glanced at the spine. “But how did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That the book is entitled Nocturnal Visit.”

  A cold shiver passed through Vane. “Please tell me you’re joking. Has Wickett spoken to you?”

  Farleigh frowned. “Your coachman? Why would he seek my counsel?”

  “Lady Cornell gave Wickett a copy of that book in order to convey a message,” Vane admitted. “The title is not a coincidence, and my man enjoys jokes at my expense.”

  He was beginning to wonder if Lady Cornell would ever overcome her obsession. She had pestered him long before he left for Italy. Two years had not cooled her ardour. Still she pressed her advances.

  “That explains it.” With his mouth curled i
nto a mischievous grin, Farleigh flipped to a page. “‘Knowing of your interest in exploration and that you’re a man who admires courage, perhaps we might have a little adventure of our own.’” Farleigh chuckled. “The words are Lady Cornell’s, not mine.”

  “And here, I thought you held me in the highest regard.”

  “Oh, I do. Most men would struggle to resist such a blatant means of seduction. Indeed, you wouldn’t believe the risks the woman took to find her way into your bed.”

  “Into my bed?”

  Farleigh spoke as though the event had already occurred.

  “Lady Cornell had her maid deliver this last night.” Farleigh gestured to the book. “Sometime around midnight, Rose heard a noise coming from the bedchamber you were using.”

  A sense of dread took hold.

  Surely Lady Cornell wasn’t bold enough to force her way into the house. “Please tell me someone had left the window open, and that was the source of the disturbance.”

  “If only that were true. Imagine my shock when I crept into the room to find Lady Cornell naked in your bed. In the dark, the daft dolt thought I was you. Suffice to say, her bedroom banter leaves a lot to be desired.”

  God damn.

  Vane covered his mouth with his hand. Had he heard this tale in his club he would have found the incident highly amusing. But he needed to do something about the lady’s obsessive nature, and soon.

  “What I would like to know is how the hell she got in here.”

  “That is a puzzle I am determined to solve,” Farleigh said, waving for Vane to sit in the chair opposite. “Although I am told her maid once had a dalliance with my footman.”

  Vane declined the offer of a seat. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have an errand to run across town.” He would instruct Mr Joseph to have a man watch Lady Cornell until such a time as he could deal with the matter. “I trust Lady Cornell’s failed attempt at seduction is the reason you asked to see me.”

  Farleigh nodded though his expression turned grave. “The lady’s desperation is bordering on dangerous. Cornell has already proved to be a man of cunning and deception. Just because you could beat him in the ring or put a ball in his chest from two hundred yards, doesn’t mean the man is not to be feared. And you know how besotted he is with his wife.”

  Vane dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “I shall deal with it. This business with Miss Darcy demands my utmost attention. Consequently, I have not had the opportunity to decide what to do with Cornell.”

  “As much as I believe Miss Darcy should be your priority, you must make a decision, and quickly. Cornell has already hurt one woman you love. What if he learns the truth about Miss Darcy?”

  “He won’t.” There was every chance Vane would arrive at the apothecary shop to discover she’d left on the late-night coach. “Besides, Miss Darcy is no wallflower, and is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

  A frisson of doubt crept into his mind. Just because she’d lived with smugglers, did not make her an expert in human nature. She believed Mr Hungerford’s intentions were honest. And Vane had been so interested in Estelle’s story that he had told her next to nothing about what a blackguard Cornell turned out to be.

  “I hope you’re right,” Farleigh said in a grave tone.

  Now Farleigh had him worried.

  Lady Cornell knew where to find Estelle. It would not take much for the woman to incite Lord Cornell into a jealous rage, and the snake always wrought vengeance on those incapable of fighting back.

  Vane inclined his head. “Thank you for your counsel. Perhaps I have misjudged the threat Cornell poses. Have no fear, I shall deal with the matter promptly.”

  He would visit Mr Joseph and have someone watch the premises on Whitecombe Street. At this rate, Joseph could rent a house in Mayfair as well as hire a carriage.

  Farleigh smiled. “I shall be here if you need me.”

  Mr Joseph was not at his table in The Speckled Hen tavern. Despite offering the landlord a bribe, Fred refused to say anything about Joseph’s whereabouts though he offered Vane a mug of ale and suggested he sit and wait.

  Vane declined the offer. A man of his ilk did not linger in the slums of Whitechapel when alone. Instead, he had Wickett park outside Mr Hungerford’s house so he could observe the comings and goings.

  Wickett was right. As daylight faded, no one came to draw the curtains. Not the faintest flicker of light could be seen glowing from within. There was something eerie about the place. A disturbing silence that left an uncomfortable feeling in Vane’s chest. Despite the bitter chill in the air, Hungerford’s was the only smokeless chimney.

  Something was most definitely amiss.

  Vane returned to the tavern, relieved to find Joseph at his table. The rumble in his stomach persuaded him to order supper. And the smell of stew wafting past his nostrils was preferable to the stench of the streets.

  Vane sat down opposite Joseph. “Any news on Hungerford?”

  “I’ve just come back from seeing his maid.”

  “So he has servants,” Vane said, surprised. “I’ve been watching his house for the past two hours and didn’t see you there.”

  “That’s because he’s given the maid notice. He sent her packing this morning.” Joseph picked up his notebook, which lay amongst a pile of tatty paper, and flicked to the required page. “Biggs followed her to the Servants’ Registry. He gave me the nod as I’m better at dealing with those of a delicate disposition.”

  Vane knew enough about scoundrels to know the glint in Joseph’s blue eyes meant he’d received more than information from the maid.

  “And what did you discover?”

  “That she’s the only person who works for him. That his wife fell ill within the first two weeks of marrying him. So the maid said.”

  “Did she say why he’s given her notice?”

  “She said he’s leaving. Seems the house is rented.” He scanned his notes. “Her story rings true when you consider he’s planned to take the coach to Bath tomorrow.”

  “Bath?” None of it made any sense. Why court Estelle if he was planning to leave London? “Did the maid say why he needs to leave so soon?”

  The landlord appeared at Vane’s side and plonked the bowl of stew on the table. Steam rose from the vessel like a ghostly apparition — a good sign, he decided.

  “Can I get you anything else, my lord?”

  Vane shook his head.

  As soon as the landlord shuffled away, Vane repeated his question. “Did she say why?”

  “Oh, she was more than free with her tongue when the mood took her.” The runner grinned. “She said that now his wife had died he wanted to move. By all accounts, he was married before but lived in Dartford. Seems she died, too.”

  “Did you find any record of his last wife at St Clement Danes?”

  “No. I tried other churches in the district but found no record of anyone by that name. I know the maid said they were married, but it wouldn’t be the first time two lovers lived as man and wife.”

  Hungerford seemed too principled to live in sin.

  “He could have lied to maintain appearances, I suppose.”

  Joseph shrugged. “I do have a list of the places he visited this morning.”

  Vane beckoned for the list with some impatience. “May I see it?”

  “Happen it’s best I read it. When a man writes in a hurry, it can look like an ink stain.” Joseph checked his notes. “He went to see a fellow in Spitalfields. A French silk weaver, so my man Simmonds said.”

  After the attempted robbery in the alley, it was not a coincidence. Perhaps it was not a coincidence that the intruder entered the Erstwhiles’ shop on the night they dined with Mr Hungerford.

  “Did he go anywhere else?”

  “He hired a yellow bounder from Mr Drummond on Compton Street. He told Drummond that he didn’t want collecting from the house but wanted to travel from the yard.”

  So he’d hired a post-chaise rather than
travel by mail coach.

  “Told him there’d be two passengers,” Joseph continued.

  “Two passengers!” Vane stopped himself from shooting out of the chair.

  Surely Hungerford didn’t expect Estelle to go with him?

  A knot formed in Vane’s throat, so big it almost blocked his airway. Perhaps he was wrong, and Estelle was using the man to help her run away. He wanted to trust her, but not knowing what had driven her from Prescott Hall all those years ago left him with a flicker of doubt.

  Vane coughed to clear his throat. “Do you know what time he’ll be leaving?”

  “Six o’clock. Hungerford wanted to leave after dark, but Drummond convinced him it was better to navigate the city streets before the fog descended. I had to slip Drummond a couple of sovereigns to get him to spill his guts.”

  Vane snorted. “I’m sure you will add it to my bill.”

  Joseph glanced at the door briefly. “There’s not much to tell about the lord you wanted watching. He comes to and from the museum, mostly. Often late at night, though I can’t help but think he’s hiding something.”

  “Concentrate all your efforts on watching both Lord and Lady Cornell.” Vane gave the runner a brief recount of the lady’s obsession. “And post a boy outside Mr Erstwhile’s apothecary on Whitecombe Street. Leave Hungerford to me.”

  “I’ll see to it right away, my lord.” Joseph eyed the bowl of stew as though he’d not eaten for a week. “Are you having that?”

  Vane had lost his appetite. He pushed the bowl across the table. “You’re welcome to it though I might stay for a while and order a drink.” It was too early to go home and sit alone.

  Joseph was already tucking into the meal. “Happen you could help me with a few questions, then.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’m investigating the theft of items from a gentleman’s club — watches, snuff boxes and the like. But I can’t go into the club to question the members.”

  Vane relished the distraction for it took his mind off the urge to call on Estelle and ask if she was leaving with Mr Hungerford. Every fibre of his being told him she was not. Perhaps the man had made an offer to more than one woman. Still, Vane would wait until five o’clock to call at the apothecary shop.