by Ava Stone
“Just so long as it isn’t my home,” Brendan grumbled.
“Not for lack of trying. But your wife is devoted to you, Clayworth. No idea what she’s done to bring this trouble on your heads—and I’d rather not know—but you can rest easy on that matter. Cordie is devoted to you, and you alone.”
Brendan didn’t doubt that in the least, but he supposed it was nice of Haversham to say. “So,” he turned his eyes to the southern edge of the Thames, “when we arrive, I’ll depart alone.”
“I’ll watch from the river and see if anyone follows you. Then I’ll follow myself, at a safe distance, of course.”
“Of course,” Brendan muttered. Assuming the blackmailer followed him and Haversham brought up the rear, how would he keep the marquess from discovering the reason he was being blackmailed? Haversham was willing to help, believing Cordie was in trouble, but Brendan couldn’t let him learn about his mother’s treacherous activities. The marquess might be a lot of things, but Brendan had never thought him a traitor. “Keep a watchful eye on yourself, too. There could be more than one of them.”
Haversham chuckled. “That would explain the variation in the letters. The amounts made no sense whatsoever.”
Brendan sighed. “Don’t remind me. I’m not all that thrilled you and Lady Staveley took it upon yourselves to rummage through my desk.”
“Just be glad you’re not going it alone.”
But it would be so much safer for Brendan if he was going it alone, if another set of ears weren’t listening in this evening—a set of ears belonging to a man who would waste no time in trying to steal Cordie away from him if given half a chance.
The ferry slowly floated up to the pier leading to Vauxhall Gardens, and the sound of lively music drifted to the shoreline. Brendan rose from his seat, tipped his head in the direction of the ferryman, and disembarked. He didn’t look back to see if Haversham followed, as that could give away their ruse. He started down the main path toward the revelry as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
People passed him going both directions and Brendan scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face, wondering who was waiting for him. Then he felt something hard at his back and a voice hissed, “Make a sound and I’ll pull the trigger.”
***
Cordie closed her eyes, shivering a bit from the chilly air on the Thames, and willed the ferry to move as fast as possible. Though Caroline Staveley had explained in great detail how she and Lord Haversham had discovered notes blackmailing Brendan and then kept an eye on Clayworth House until the villain made his move, nothing really made sense to Cordie. If the blackmailer didn’t have Jacqueline Clayworth’s letters, what was he after? But most importantly, she needed to see her husband again, to tell him he was safe from the gallows and that they would face this fiend, whoever he was, together.
A hand grasped her elbow, and Cordie opened her eyes to find Lady Astwick’s light gaze focused on her. “We will get to the bottom of this, Cordelia.”
Cordie nodded, thankful for the woman’s strength as she had so little of her own any more.
“We can cover more ground if we split up once we reach the gardens,” Lady Staveley suggested.
But the dowager marchioness waved the suggestion away with her hand. “That sounds like a perfectly good way to get us each killed, Caroline. No, we’ll stick together.”
“But the gardens are so vast.”
“I have no intention of ending up with a knife in back this evening. So we’ll stay together.”
Lady Staveley sighed but agreed with a nod of her head. Then she smiled at Cordie. “Are you all right, darling?”
As all right as one could be under the current circumstances. So Cordie nodded in response. “I just want to find Brendan.”
As soon as they disembarked, the trio bounded up the steps and started along the main path to the gardens. Loud music filled the air, as did the laughter of the assembled crowd. Cordie remembered attending events here in the past, how she loved the fireworks and the dancing and the general reverie. She would never be able to attend Vauxhall again without a feeling of doom settling in the pit of her stomach.
“Caroline!” came a cheerful voice from the dinner boxes.
The three of them looked up to find Lady Juliet Beckford waving wildly in their direction. “Oh, bother,” Caroline grumbled. “I can’t put off my sister-in-law. She’ll be suspicious.”
“Go on then,” Lady Astwick ordered. “Find us if you are able.”
Caroline Staveley waved back to her brother’s wife and started toward the dinner boxes, leaving Cordie and Lady Astwick by themselves.
“Where do we start?” Cordie asked, only because the dowager seemed to have command of the entire affair.
“If I was going to meet someone here for a nefarious purpose,” Lady Astwick began, “I would be along the darkened hedgerows.”
Which made complete sense. “My thoughts exactly,” Cordie agreed. At that moment, a shot rang out in the night and then the sky lit up, full of color. Cordie placed a hand to her furiously beating heart. For a moment she’d thought it was a weapon, not the fireworks. “That just took off a year of my life.”
“This way,” Lady Astwick pushed toward a garden entrance with Cordie quick on her heels.
Again the night sky lit up and illuminated the gardens below. Cordie’s heart stopped once again when she spotted a figured slumped on the ground against a hedgerow. “Dear God!” she breathed out. They were too late! She raced across the walkway as fast as her slippered feet could carry her. “Brendan!” she yelled.
She dropped to her knees beside the fallen man, and somehow managed to turn him part way, enough that she could tell the man was not her husband. “Marc!” she gasped.
“Over there!” Lady Astwick yelled. “A fellow just darted into the shrubbery.”
“Damn ferryman,” the marquess mumbled, his eyes still closed.
***
Brendan was almost certain he heard his name. He started to turn toward the sound, but his blackmailer pressed the barrel of his gun harder into Brendan’s back.
“I said go forward,” the villain hissed.
Where the devil was Haversham? Shouldn’t he be bringing up the rear? Brendan shook the valise in his hand. “There is no one here, why don’t we make the trade right now?”
“Trade?” the man said, abandoning his whisper, and Brendan almost recognized his captor’s voice. He must have taken the man by surprise for him to finally speak aloud.
“Yes, trade. You give me my letters and I’ll give you your money. Then we can both be on our way.”
A maniacal laughed escaped the villain, then the man circled Brendan from behind, finally stopping directly in front of him. Brendan barely managed to keep his mouth from falling open. “Brookfield?” he whispered. His eyes were dark rimmed and he looked slightly mad. Opium eater. Captain Avery’s words echoed in Brendan’s ear. Brookfield clearly wasn’t in his right mind. How long had he been like this and Brendan had missed it?
“Let’s get one thing clear, Clayworth,” Lord Brookfield spat. “You’re buying my silence, but nothing else.”
But Brendan had to get his mother’s letters, especially from this madman. “I’m afraid I must insist on the trade,” he replied calmly, hoping to alleviate the man’s obvious agitation.
Brookfield looked at him as though he sprouted horns and a forked tail. “You’ll give me every farthing I want, and you’ll continue to do so until every penny you stole is returned to me.”
Stole? Brendan shook his head. “I’ve never taken anything from you, Brookfield.”
Exasperated, the deranged viscount blew a lungful of air from his chest. “I wouldn’t have cared if she wanted to carry on with Haversham if that’s what she wanted. I only wanted…”
“This is about Cordelia?” Brendan frowned at the deranged man. “All of this is about my wife?”
“She should have been my wife! I needed her…and y-you don’t.”
Needed her? Or needed her dowry? Things were starting to make a bit of sense. “I am sorry, old man, but she chose me. I’m certain however…”
Brookfield scoffed. “She chose Haversham. I saw her sneaking around to see him more than once. I saw her leave Sunderland’s ball in his company. But you covered up for her, always the hero.”
Brendan’s head spun just a bit. He hadn’t thought anyone other than Averys knew the truth about that fateful evening. How long had Brookfield been keeping an eye on Cordie?
“And if you don’t pay me, everyone else will know it too,” Brookfield growled, his wild eyes darkening with the pronouncement. “And we both know the ever-heroic Clayworth will never let scandal touch the perfect Reese family name.”
“Brendan!” Cordie’s voice reached Brendan’s ears. Dear God! He hadn’t imagined her calling him earlier. It really was her! What was she doing here? She should be safely ensconced in Hampshire, away from the unhinged Brookfield.
“Cordie!” he yelled back. “Stay wherever you are! Don’t come any closer.”
Of course she didn’t listen to him. His reckless wife rounded a hedgerow and froze in her spot when she realized Brookfield’s gun was trained on Brendan. “He doesn’t have them,” she called.
The letters. She’d somehow discovered that piece of information and thought to save him. He could see it in her anxious countenance. No, Brookfield didn’t have the letters. It was too bad Brendan hadn’t realized that before. “What in the world are you doing here?”
“Looking for you,” she replied softly.
“Well, do come closer then.” Brookfield gestured her forward with his pistol.
“This has nothing to do with her,” Brendan said calmly. “Tell me how much you want and I’ll give it to you.”
“This has everything to do with her!” Spittle flew from Brookfield’s mouth.
Brendan spotted Haversham, a little worse for the wear, rounding a hedgerow from the opposite direction. About time he showed up. The marquess, pistol in hand, lifted his finger to his lips, warning Brendan and Cordie not to say a word.
“I want every farthing that should have been mine.” The viscount scowled at Brendan. “Or I suppose I could shoot you and then marry the grieving widow after all.”
Brookfield must have heard a sound behind him because he spun on his heel and gasped when he discovered Haversham just a few feet away. In surprise, Brookfield fired his pistol and Haversham stumbled back slightly. A red stain on the marquess’ left shoulder quickly began to spread as he fired his own weapon, hitting Brookfield squarely in the chest.
Cordie screamed and threw her arms around Brendan’s neck, burying her face against his chest. He held her close, not certain if he would ever be able to let her go. After the weeks they spent apart and then Brookfield threatening their lives, Brendan wanted to keep her in his arms forever.
***
Cordie should dry her eyes, but she didn’t want to let go of her husband. So she held on tighter even as Lady Staveley and Lady Astwick came upon the scene. Then the viscountess dashed across the garden and she threw her arms around Marc’s neck, sobbing. “You foolish, foolish man!” she heaved. “You nearly got yourself killed!” Then she seemed to remember herself and released her hold on him. Caroline Staveley swiped at her tears and then began beating his broad chest with her fists. “And how dare you lock me in that coach and send me packing, you awful scoundrel!”
Marc grinned like the rake he was reported to be, snaked his good arm around Lady Staveley’s waist and drew her back against him. Then he lowered his head and captured her lips in a searing kiss that even took Cordie’s breath away from where she still stood within Brendan’s arms.
“Heavens!” Cordie whispered, her mouth agape.
Brendan cleared his throat and Lady Astwick harrumphed. Loudly.
Finally, Marc lifted his head, his light eyes twinkling devilishly. “Now, my dear Caroline, you may say you’ve enjoyed a proper assignation in a Vauxhall walkway.”
Lady Staveley ripped herself from his grasp and slapped his cheek, though the sound was drowned out amidst the blast of more fireworks overhead. “Don’t you ever come near me again, Marcus Gray!”
He winked at her and nodded his head in acquiescence. “Not to worry, I never do kiss a lady more than once, my dear.” Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the revelry of the night, his left arm hanging limply at his side.
“Well!” Lady Astwick declared. “I think you handled that rather well, Caroline Staveley.”
The viscountess still seemed to be trying to catch her breath. A dark blush covered every inch of skin Cordie could see. Then Lady Staveley touched a hand to her cheek as though to determine her own temperature. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“As I said, you handled that rather well, Caroline,” Lady Astwick continued in a softer tone. “You know how foolish men can be. I think there’s no reason to mention any of this to Staveley or he’ll feel compelled to defend your honor and you’ve already done so, quite wonderfully, yourself.”
At that moment, a constable rounded the hedgerow and took in the scene before him. “An injured gentleman just sent me this direction.”
Brendan whispered in Cordie’s ear, “Go to Caroline, ma minouche.” Then he closed the distance from their group to the constable. “I’m Clayworth. That fellow there,” he pointed to Brookfield’s now lifeless body, “threatened my wife and myself, then shot the Marquess of Haversham, who defended himself by firing back. Fortunately, Haversham is a better shot, and I believe he’s gone to find a surgeon for his own injury.”
“Aye, that’s what the man said,” the constable agreed, then he sunk to his haunches to take a closer look at Brookfield. He grunted unhappily. “Just what I needed to make my day complete.” He glanced back up at Brendan. “Clayworth, you say?”
“The Earl of Clayworth,” Brendan clarified.
“Well, my lord, why don’t you see these ladies home? I’m sure we’ll be around to get your statements later.”
Brendan nodded. “I’ll look forward to speaking with you.”
***
Cordie snuggled against Brendan in Lady Astwick’s traveling coach. It had been so long since she’d seen him. So long since she’d felt his arms around her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, silently vowing to never be away from him again.
As soon as Caroline Staveley departed the carriage and the remaining trio started for Clayworth House, Lady Astwick sighed loudly. “I am so terribly sorry, Brendan. Had I known you were searching for Jacqueline’s letters I would have told you they’d been destroyed.”
“It’s hardly your fault.” Brendan ran his hand up and down Cordie’s arm as though to keep her warm.
“Still, I wish I had something. I didn’t know you knew is all, and I didn’t want to tarnish your memory of her.”
He laughed sadly. “I just can’t believe it’s over. I can’t believe I can stop looking for the things.”
“You can now enjoy the happiness you should have always had, dear boy.” Then the dowager cleared her throat. “But if you ever send your wife off again, you won’t have to worry about the Home Office. I’ll hang you myself.”
Brendan chuckled and the sound warmed Cordie, inside and out. “Not to worry, my lady, my days of espionage and subterfuge are over. I can’t wait to retire to Bayhurst Court with my wife and never let her leave my sight.”
“That might be a bit extreme,” the old woman declared. “You don’t want to make a nuisance of yourself.”
“Within reason, then,” he promised.
Cordie sat up a little straighter and stared into her handsome husband’s eyes. “I was so terrified when I saw his pistol. I thought…” But she couldn’t finish that statement.
“It doesn’t matter.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s all over, my love. But do tell me you don’t have any other deranged fellows hoping to still marry you. This Captain S
eaton fellow is of the reasonable variety, isn’t he?”
He hadn’t been reasonable about Cordie’s friendship with Livvie, but Cordie couldn’t imagine the captain brandishing a pistol or trying to blackmail Brendan. “I believe you are safe, my lord.”
“Thank God,” he replied with a charming smile upon his face.
~ Epilogue ~
July 1815 – Bayhurst Court, Derbyshire
“I know you were behind it, Cordelia Clayworth!” Livvie embraced Cordie on the front drive.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Cordie giggled, so happy that the Kelfields had finally arrived to spend the rest of July in Derbyshire.
“Hmm.” Livvie grinned. “I suppose the dowager Marchioness of Astwick inviting me to her house party next month is just a coincidence then?”
Of course not. Cordie had finally broken the old woman down, begging her to ease Livvie’s way back into society. “I’m sure you charmed her all on your own.”
“I’m certain,” Livvie replied drolly.
A squeal from Poppy Everett caught their attention as a little sheep dog knocked the child to the ground. Thomas Reese doubled over with laughter.
“I can’t believe you rode all the way from Hampshire with a dog.” Cordie smiled at the scene on her front lawn.
“Watch what you say about me in front of my children, will you?” the Duke of Kelfield bounced his son in his arms. The tiny Marquess of Brockenhurst cooed and chomped on his father’s finger.
“I will try to watch my tongue,” Cordie teased. Then she gestured to the estate behind her. “Do come inside, I know Clayworth is eager to see you both.”
“Eager to show off his heir, you mean, if his letter is any indication,” Kelfield corrected. “Though I completely support his doing so.”
“So generous of you.” Livvie rolled her eyes.
“Well, I’d never begrudge him what I plan to do myself.”
“You are indeed noble, Your Grace,” Cordie laughed as she turned back to her home. She ushered Livvie and Kelfield into a sunny yellow parlor where Brendan sat on a settee holding their sleeping son, Julian Reese, the tiny Baron Bayhurst.