by Cheryl Bolen
“Yes, I know.”
He sipped his tea, then favored her with a smile. “Nothing could have felt better on my throat. Thank you.”
“I thought perhaps porridge would give you some nourishment while soothing your throat, too.”
His eyes danced. “How well your old nurse taught you.”
She moved away and began to open the crimson draperies at all three of his windows. “That's better. Look if you will, Mr. Birmingham, at how sunny it is today.”
“But it's still icy cold.”
“Indeed it is. When I looked out my window this morning, there was frost on all the rooftops.” Her attention turned to his fire. It looked as if it had freshly been built. “Did the charwoman awaken you?”
He started to answer, but began to cough. A hacking cough. Finally, he said, “No. My body awakens at the same time every day no matter how little sleep I've had.”
Her brows lowered. “Did you sleep poorly?”
“Actually, I slept quite well. I woke up once coughing but had no difficulty going back to sleep. The melodious tones of Miss Door reciting my favorite Poet must have acted as a sedative.”
The chair she'd pulled beside his bed last night was still there. She sat in it. “Do you know, Mr. Birmingham, I believe you favor Pope because he satirizes everything. I believe you're very cynical yourself.”
He smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
“See! Nurse was right! Your voice is already better.”
“Then I shall be most indebted to your old nurse.”
She sighed. “It is such a pity that you're not an upstanding citizen, Mr. Birmingham.”
His brows lowered. “Why do you say that?”
“Because if you were, you could command the respect needed to sway members of the House of Lords.”
“That's right. Lord Finkel would have to be tried by his peers in the House of Lords.”
“If only you were an aristocrat. An aristocrat wouldn't even have to go into the lurid details about Stoney's sister-in-law. Other lords would be satisfied if a respected lord said a friend and did not have to name Stoney.”
“But as you say, I'm neither an aristocrat nor am I respectable.”
The more she was with him, the more difficult it was for her to think him disreputable. He possessed too many fine attributes.
His gaze went to the door on the other side of his chamber. She suspected it was the door to his dressing room. “I wonder why Thompson hasn't been in this morning?” he asked.
“I asked him to let you sleep.”
“Yet you were willing to wake me?”
“Not before a time when I thought you were accustomed to waking.”
A knock sounded upon his door, and after William responded, Fenton opened the door.
“Miss Isadore Door has a visitor.”
Oh dear. She'd told Devere not to ever come if William was at home.
“A man?” William barked.
“No, Mr. Birmingham. A young woman.”
Her first thought was that it was Isadore. But Isadore would not be asking for Sophia. She knew nothing of Sophia's existence. Isadore would be seeking William.
Puzzled, Sophia stood.
* * *
All the way down the stairs, Sophia was perplexed. No one knew she was here, except for her brother. He was the only one who would have known what ridiculous name she was assuming, and the caller had obviously asked to see Miss Isadore Door. Just before Sophia reached the library, she had worked out who her caller must be.
She cautiously opened the door and quietly shut it behind her just before she came face to face with her real sister. The two stood staring at one another for a moment.
No one witnessing the scene would ever believe these two females were sisters. This blonde looked nothing like Sophia or Devere, both of whom were possessed of dark hair and even darker eyes. This young woman's eyes were fair, like a pale blue translucent sky. She was also considerably younger than Sophia. Where Sophia's first Season was a distant memory, this lady looked as if she had just reached the age of coming out.
She flew into Sophia's arms. “Ever since Devere told me how that odious Lord Finkel forced you to marry him, I've felt as if I could throw myself from the top of St. Paul's.”
Sophia held her at arm's length and peered into her misty eyes. “I beg that you put away such morbid thoughts. Your death would be a thousand times worse than kissing Lord Finkel—though I will own kissing Lord Finkel was vastly unpleasant!”
Maryann swiped away a tear, and the two sisters giggled.
“I'm happy you got away from him.”
“My success at that remains to be seen. Come, pet, let's move closer to the fire. This house has abominable drafts.” This room was just as chilly as William's.
The two sat on a sofa in front of the fire.
“I want to do anything I can to help set you free from Lord Finkel. I mean to tell the magistrates about the threats, about my . . . my indiscretion.”
“And have it published in the newspapers?”
Maryann sat up straighter and spoke with defiance. “If need be.”
Sophia regarded her from beneath lowered brows. “Have you spoken of this to Devere?”
Maryann's bravado wilted, and she shook her head. “It was mortifying enough when he confronted me about that disastrous deed I committed when I was fifteen. I have never known such embarrassment. My brother speaking to me about such an intimate occurrence! I was incapable of looking him in the eye.”
“I can speak for Devere when I say he would never permit you to bring down such a scandal upon our house.” Sophia knew spoiling Maryann's reputation and the subsequent absence of marital prospects would worry Devere far worse than a scandal touching the family, but she wanted her sister to think that publicizing her confession would hurt the whole family. Obviously, Maryann, in her desire to make amends, had completely disregarded herself. “You must also be cognizant that no man would ever offer for you if you are known to have ruined yourself. Don't you want to marry?”
Tears began to trickle down Maryann's cheeks. “I gave up the right to hope for that.”
Sophia clasped her sister's hands. “Don't ever think that. Look at you! You're beautiful. You will have all the gentlemen begging for your hand.”
Maryann shook her head. “But I cannot marry! How could I enter a marriage without being truthful?”
“Honesty is highly overrated. Often the truth hurts innocent people.”
“But a man would know about those things. He would know he wasn't my first.”
“Men aren't as knowledgeable as you would give them credit for. And you must consider, you only did it once! That would hardly make you an old hand at that sort of thing. I daresay you could easily pass yourself off as quite an innocent.”
The younger sister started to cry. “Devere said you hadn't . . . hadn't done the deed with Lord Finkel, but you seem awfully knowledgeable about these things.” She started crying so hard she could hardly talk, but she kept trying to get the sputtering words out. “I'm so sorry. If I had to . . . to be with that odious Lord Finkel I would pitch myself off the top of St. Paul's.”
“If you don't quit invoking St. Paul's I'll demand that Devere send you back to Hamberly!” Sophia cringed. “Such an ugly way to go. One's whole body would be crushed into pieces, and I suspect there would be an inordinate amount of blood. If I were going to do away with myself, I'd want to choose something that wouldn't disfigure.”
“Like poison?”
“I don't know. I've been told some poisons make one cast up all their accounts before they die. I shouldn't want anyone to find my dead body in a nasty pool like that.”
Maryann nodded. “There is that.”
“Enough gruesome talk.”
“You have done the deed, have you not?” Maryann asked.
Sophia nodded sheepishly.
“Oh, no! It's all my fault!” she began to wail.
“Not
with Finkie.”
The younger sister's head snapped upward. She looked at Sophia as if she'd just sprouted a second head. “Then I'm not the cause of your . . . “
“No, you're not. It didn't happen until after I left Finkie.”
Now Maryann's eyes rounded. “With Mr. Birmingham!”
A dreamy look came over Sophia's face as she nodded.
“What a horrible man! Devere will want to kill him.”
“He's not a horrible man,” Sophia said, her voice soft. “He asked me to marry him. Before he learned that I was already wed. Or actually, that Isadore is wed. Though, of course, I am too.” Now she felt like wailing.
“Devere told me about how you came to be Isadore. Has the real Isadore shown up?”
“Not yet.”
“How can I help you?”
Sophia's thoughts flitted through her brain like leaves scattering on the winds. “I can't always be watching for Isadore. Dottie's been spelling me when I can't sit and watch, but I would prefer you.”
“I will. How will you explain my presence to Mr. Birmingham?”
Sophia thought on it for a moment. Nothing ever popped into her heard without her making a concentrated effort. Finally, she came up with the explanation. “We will give the partial truth. I will say you're my sister. But of course you'll have to use a different name.”
“You're going to want me to be a Door.” She did not look happy.
“Yes. You're to be Theodora Door.”
Maryann rolled her eyes. “Next you'll be saying we have a brother named Dorian.”
“I already have.”
* * *
When she returned to William's chamber, he was fully dressed and seated at his desk perusing the day's post. She stood at the open door, gawking. He looked as if he'd had a complete recovery, which made her joyous. On the other hand, it saddened her to know that were he well, he would no longer need her. She'd have no reason to come to his bedchamber, nor would she be permitted to softly read poetry to him.
He smiled up at her. “I owe my thanks to you and to your former nurse. The chamomile tea and porridge were exactly what I needed.” His voice, while still hoarse, has lost the nasal tone which sounded like someone speaking from down in a well.
“I do hope your illness is behind you.”
He set down his pen. “So are you going to tell me who your female caller was?”
“Of course.”
“I can depend upon you to tell me the version you prefer to tell me without regard to its veracity.”
“Of course.”
“So?”
“My younger sister came.”
“Another sister? Is this one deaf?”
“No. She's a lovely young lady who happens to miss me most profoundly. I do hope you don't mind that I've asked her to stay with me for a few days. She won't be any trouble. She'll share my chamber as we did when we were younger.”
“It's nothing to me if she stays. And what is this sister's name?”
“Theodora.”
His eyes flashed with mirth. “Theodora Door?”
“Indeed.” She drew a breath. “I do hope that just because you're feeling better you are not going out in this wretched cold.”
“I have decided to stay in today.” He stood. “And now that you've finished speaking to your sister in the library, I have correspondence that demands my attention.”
“I'll come with you. There's a matter I wish to discuss.”
As they descended the stairs, she reiterated how delighted she was that he was showing such improvement. “I daresay if you were foolish enough to go out, you'd pay dearly with a dangerous setback.”
In the library, he sat at his long writing table, and she returned to the sofa. “It's much colder by that window,” she said. “Perhaps you should come closer to the fire. I don't know why your house is so dreadfully cold.”
“I've got on a warm coat.”
“Just walking beside that writing table, I get chilled.”
His heavy-lidded eye flicked to her. “That's because you're dressed in much too flimsy a fashion.”
“How peculiar I would look were I to walk about your house in my velvet cloak. Even if it hadn't been dirtied and torn on the night of . . . the night we met at the Prickly Pig.”
“What is it you wanted to speak to me about.”
“Lord Finkel.”
He regarded her with a quizzing look. “I've been meaning to ask if you know him personally.”
“I do. Because of my familiarity with his habits, I've thought of something that might help us get information to use against him.”
“You've piqued my interest.”
“It will take a lot of courage, but I have no doubts courage is a trait you possess in abundance.”
The way his eyes flashed, the way he sat there with so commanding a presence, it was difficult to believe his health had been compromised. “I am gratified that you think so,” he said.
“I propose that we sneak inside of Lord Finkel's house when I'm sure he'll be elsewhere. We could be at liberty to search for incriminating evidence to use against him. Things like the original letters he's using to blackmail his victims.”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean we? That most certainly does not sound like a mission upon which I would permit a woman to come. It could be very dangerous.”
She could tell from his response that such a mission appealed to her fearless lover.
“But I not only know his habits, I also know his house.” Her voice softened. “I could never be scared as long as you were with me.”
“Madam, your trust in my abilities is vastly overrated.”
A smile on her earnest face, she shrugged.
“Have you thought this out?”
“I have.”
“You might know about Finkel, but what of his servants? He must have many.”
“He does.”
“Then how in the devil are we to search his house?”
“Close to midnight every Thursday he goes to Mrs. Garth's establishment and plays faro and other games of chance until morning light.”
“While his servants sleep,” he said in a thoughtful voice. “I see what you're getting at, but a man with as many enemies as Finkel is sure to have his door locked and bolted.”
“I leave it to you to figure out that part. There is the fact that you're very wealthy. Perhaps you could devise a way to bribe a servant.”
He pursed his lips in thought. “That just might work. I can send Thompson along to make contact with the servants.”
He looked down at the pile of letters and tradesmen's bills he'd brought along. “Shall we plan for this Thursday?”
She nodded. “I suppose it will actually be Friday by the time we get into his house.” She stood and went to leave the room. Now that they had patched up their frail relationship, she didn't want her presence to be annoying. He clearly wished to work on his correspondence. Alone.
“By the way, when do I get to meet Miss Theodora Door?” he asked.
“Today if you like.”
He drew a breath. “Perhaps at dinner. I shall dine in tonight.”
Chapter 14
Regardless of whether he owed his recovery to Isadore or to her childhood nurse, William was grateful for the improvement. He'd seldom felt worse than on the previous afternoon when, like a fool, he'd once again been caught in icy rain. With each step of his horse back to Grosvenor Square he had thought of how miserable he felt and how comforting a warm bed would be. He must have been very sick because William never slept in the daytime.
Even this morning the effects of his illness had lingered, but now as he spent the afternoon in his library, it occurred to him that while he was not experiencing a complete recovery, he did show vast improvement. The fact that he was dressed and out of his bed was proof. He could not have climbed from his bed four and twenty hours earlier.
As he spent the afternoon in his library, he was unable to repress the b
ittersweet memory of Isadore's soft voice as she had read Pope to him the previous night. The listening had brought him joy. Until he remembered that she belonged to another man.
Even now it seemed that her rose scent lingered in the library. Why did this woman affect him so profoundly? After several starts and stops on his correspondence, he put down his pen. It was no use attempting to write an amusing letter to his brother-in-law when his every thought was on Isadore. He cursed himself for a coward. Had he not sworn not to speak to her, not to be civil to her? Yet he'd weakened at her concern for him.
The woman might be a liar, a no-good smuggler, and an unfaithful wife, but he knew she had not feigned her worry over him. Was he more the fool to believe the wrenching words she'd written in that solitary letter?
The longer he sat at the writing table, the colder he became. She had been right about that too. It was much cooler near the window. It wouldn't do for him to have a setback. He was far too active to be forced back to bed. He went and sat on the sofa near the fire. And her scent was even stronger there.
He pictured her in the thin muslin dress of soft coral and remembered about her tattered cloak. Was that why she was not dressed more warmly? An idea struck him, and he got up and rang for a servant.
Fenton came.
William unlocked a desk drawer and picked up a small pouch of coins. “I wish you to send one of the footmen to Conduit Street to purchase a velvet cloak for Miss Isadore Door and see that she gets it before dinner.” He tossed the money. “This should cover it.”
* * *
“I beg that you say as little as possible,” Sophia said to Maryann. The two ladies, along with Sophia's maid, had all dressed in finery for dinner. Though she knew of no one who had ever worn a velvet cloak in the dining chamber, she chose to do so tonight. She wished to show William how much she cherished his thoughtful gesture in purchasing it to replace the one she'd ruined climbing out her window at Finkie's that night.
Besides, the cloak's warmth would be most welcome in this chilly house.
Maryann effected a haughty look. “I have no intentions of being anything more than passably civil to the man who corrupted my sister. And, furthermore, I do not socialize with smugglers.”