by Karen Ranney
Thoughts cascaded into Adam’s mind like a fusillade of bullets. This was a meeting of men who knew each other well. Roger had never mentioned that he was acquainted with Suzanne’s father. What the hell was Hackney doing at the War Office? Did he know of Adam’s assignment? If he didn’t, the man wouldn’t lose any time informing his daughter of the fact that he’d seen Adam here, a thought that was reinforced by Hackney’s expression as he turned.
The two of them exchanged a look.
Roger stood, his smile fading into a frown. “What are you doing here?”
He had too many questions and absolutely no answers, so Adam didn’t even try to respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and left Roger’s office, intent on getting back to Marsley House at all possible speed.
Suzanne was reading in the Grecian Parlor, a restful place due to its colors of beige and tan and the fact that it was away from most of the activities midday. None of the maids came here after eleven and the footmen weren’t stationed in this corridor until after dark. Consequently, few people interrupted her unless she rang.
“Suzanne.”
She was startled to hear Adam call her name. She looked up to find him framed in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his usual majordomo attire. Instead, he was dressed only in a white shirt and black trousers beneath a long topcoat. In his hands he held her cloak.
“Will you come with me?” he said.
“Will I come with you?”
He nodded. “Will you come with me?”
What a silly conversation they were having, but Adam evidently didn’t feel that way. There was a look in his eyes, the same expression that had been there when he was talking about India. Serious and somber, with another emotion she couldn’t decipher.
“Where?” she asked.
“Somewhere safe,” he said. “Where we can talk.”
She should have countered that Marsley House was safe. That there were hundreds of rooms they could occupy that would be private enough, but something in his voice or in his eyes kept her silent.
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself.
She stood, placed her book on the sofa cushion beside her, and approached him.
Instead of offering his arm, he grabbed her hand. He walked quickly down the corridor of the north wing, and turned left and then right to a rear door that was not often used.
“Adam? Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I can’t talk about it until we’re away from here.”
She stopped and when he would have pulled her to him, she shook her head.
“Is it my father?” she asked. “Has he been hurt? Has there been another accident?”
He put his arm around her shoulders, drew her close, and looked down into her face. “Your father is fine, Suzanne. I promise you that. There is something wrong, but give me a few minutes and I will explain everything.”
There were dozens and dozens of servants around Marsley House, but they only encountered one maid. She glanced at their joined hands and then away, trying to hide her smile but being unable to do so successfully.
Suzanne realized she was probably going to be the subject of gossip in the servants’ quarters. Why wasn’t she more concerned?
She would think about that later.
Perhaps she was wrong to trust Adam. She, who had lost trust in nearly everything. Yet for some reason she did. Perhaps it was because they’d each known anguish. Adam knew how she felt, what she’d gone through, and he was possibly the only person she’d met who did. They’d each experienced the worst of what life could deliver. Or maybe she trusted him because he’d always sought to protect her.
She squeezed his hand and nodded, assent in a gesture.
He helped her with her cloak, and together they left Marsley House.
Chapter Thirty-One
Adam didn’t know why he was doing what he was doing. Or, rather, he knew exactly why he was doing it. He just couldn’t believe he was actually going through with it.
His duty was to the Crown. The army had saved him, had fed him, had trained him. He’d transferred his allegiance from the army to the War Office and it was as strong as ever.
Yet he was skirting dangerously close to violating his duty at the moment.
He wasn’t sure that he had a clear picture about anything, and that lack of understanding made him both frustrated and angry. It wasn’t just seeing Hackney at the War Office. It was Roger putting a second operative at Marsley House. It was the sensation he’d always had that he was being manipulated.
What the hell had Hackney been doing in Roger’s office? Why had Roger been entertaining a wealthy former East India Company director?
Had Hackney always known who Adam was? The look on the older man’s face had been one of surprise, so it was possible he hadn’t.
The one thing Adam was certain of in this entire fiasco was that he wanted to tell Suzanne who he was before Hackney had a chance to mention their encounter this morning. He didn’t want her to think that he’d violated her trust or taken advantage of her. Although how she could think anything else, he didn’t know.
The truth was always best. He would just have to tell her who he was and let fate decide what happened after that.
He gave the driver the address to his lodgings, normally twenty minutes away in good traffic. It took them twice as long to reach the house he’d considered home for the past six and a half years.
He and Suzanne talked of inconsequential things, like the weather or the new maids at Marsley House. Both of them were settling in well and performing their tasks admirably. In fact, Mrs. Thigpen had asked if there was any way that the two girls could come back to work after the birth of their children.
“What do you think?” he asked now, desperate for any subject other than why he was taking her away from Marsley House. If he began his explanation too soon, she could easily command the driver to turn the carriage around and take her home.
“I think it would be a wonderful idea. And the babies can come and stay, too.”
He glanced at her in surprise.
“We’ve all those rooms, Adam. It seems to me that the infants would be better there than at the Institute or the Foundling Hospital. The girls don’t seem willing to abandon their children, thank heavens. Their babies need to be somewhere safe, just like them.”
She stared up at the ceiling of the carriage. “We could turn one of the rooms on the third floor into a nursery. Maybe Mrs. Armbruster knows of a young girl who could come and watch the babies during the day.”
“You realize that the girls are unwed?”
For the first time since he’d spirited her away from Marsley House, she looked annoyed.
“And they’re women of ill repute, little more than prostitutes, isn’t that what people say? Harlots.” She shook her head. “If you ask either of them, Adam, they were in love. They made a mistake, true, but must they be severely punished for it?”
She stared out at the street a moment before returning her gaze to him. “And another thing. Where are the men? Where are the men that they fell in love with? Have you noticed that they’re nowhere around? Nor does the law compel them to provide for their children.”
Only one time had he seen her so fierce and that’s when she’d fired Ella.
“Tell me about the Foundling Hospital,” he said. “And the Institute.”
She frowned at him. “Are you really interested?”
He nodded.
“It’s Mrs. Armbruster’s project. Hers and her husband. She didn’t say, but I suspect that their efforts began in the church. A great many charities are run by the church for sinners. Only you can’t be too much of a sinner.”
That comment surprised him, but he didn’t speak.
“You can be a fallen woman, but if you also have an illegitimate child, there aren’t many places where you can get help. People like the Armbrusters step in and offer a solution. Otherwise, these poor girls would have nowhere to go. They would be liv
ing on the streets with their children.” She leaned back against the seat. “It’s not an ideal situation,” she added, describing the layout of the Institute and the Foundling Hospital. “But at least those poor babies aren’t doomed to die a terrible death.”
He suddenly understood why she was more than willing to open up Marsley House to the two girls and their infants. Her need to help, to rescue those girls, had at its roots her inability to have prevented Georgie’s death.
The carriage slowed. A glance out the window showed him that they were in Pimlico and nearing his lodgings.
He hadn’t seen Mrs. Ross since he’d brought the kitten to her. The kitten, strangely enough, was the first to greet him when he jumped down from the carriage and held out his hand to help Suzanne.
The kitten jumped from an overhanging branch to land on the top of the carriage roof. He gave Adam a quick once-over, then calmly settled in to wash himself.
Adam chuckled.
“A friend of yours?” Suzanne asked, smiling up at the kitten.
“I’d say he was a friend of yours,” he corrected her. “I found him at Marsley House. Outside your bedroom window, as a matter of fact.”
“And you brought him here?” she asked, looking up and down the avenue.
“It’s where I live.”
On one side, terraced houses lined the street, the hedges pruned to militaristic precision in front of each home. Steeply pitched slate roofs sheltered each identical-looking house, the bay windows acting like eyes on their neighbors. On the other side of the street sat detached houses, one of which belonged to Mrs. Ross. The white stucco structure had been built only twenty years ago when her husband died.
“I lost a husband and gained a house,” she was fond of saying.
The residence, with its four classical columns, was a sprawling structure consisting of four floors and a substantial basement. His lodgings opened up to the garden, an overgrown hodgepodge of colorful blooms and out-of-control greenery. When he’d first seen it, Adam had smiled, realizing that Mrs. Ross’s garden represented England to him. An England that had remained the same for centuries and would likely resist change.
He offered Suzanne his arm and they proceeded up the curved walk. Mrs. Ross, who had acute hearing, opened the front door, smiling a greeting.
“Mr. Drummond, how lovely to see you again.”
She looked from him to Suzanne, an expectant expression on her face and curiosity in her eyes. He glanced at Suzanne, then at his landlady.
“Mrs. Ross, I’d like you to meet Suzanne Hackney. My cousin.”
Both women looked at him.
“Your cousin?” Mrs. Ross said. “I thought you had no family in London, Mr. Drummond.”
“I’ve only recently returned,” Suzanne said. “I was living in Sussex.”
At least she’d managed not to lie on that point, which was more than he could say for himself.
He’d known that he’d have to appease Mrs. Ross. He hadn’t planned on lying to her, but at the last moment he hadn’t been willing to divulge Suzanne’s identity. Mrs. Ross was not above a little gossip over the hedges. What he didn’t want was for Suzanne to be the topic of the week.
“Then welcome, Miss Hackney. Any family member of Mr. Drummond’s is welcome here,” Mrs. Ross said, turning and holding the door open.
“Actually, it’s Mrs.,” Suzanne said as Adam stepped aside and let Suzanne precede him inside the house.
As usual, it smelled of cinnamon and oranges and something else that reminded him of pepper. He’d rarely tasted Mrs. Ross’s cooking, preferring to do for himself, but occasionally he’d shared meals with the other two lodgers. After the first experience, he’d learned to decline a meal whenever Mrs. Ross was making something fancy. She was good with roasts and fish but tended to odd flavors in her stews and casseroles.
“I noticed the kitten outside,” he said.
“The best mouser I’ve ever seen,” Mrs. Ross replied, straightening her apron. “Can I do anything for you, Mr. Drummond? Or your cousin?”
“We don’t require anything, Mrs. Ross, but thank you.”
“You’ll let me know?”
He smiled. “Indeed I will.”
He led the way down the hallway, turned to the left, and inserted his key in the lock. Mrs. Ross stood behind them, even as he put his hand on the small of Suzanne’s back and urged her inside.
Once more he turned to his landlady and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Ross.”
“Mr. Drummond,” she said, nodding.
She glanced once more at Suzanne, taking in her black silk dress.
He closed the door in his landlady’s face, wondering how long she was going to remain in the hall.
Moving into the sitting room he stood in front of the now cold fireplace. The day wasn’t chilly enough to build a fire. Yet it would have given him something to do rather than stand here and wonder how to begin this conversation.
“Why did you lie?” he asked, removing his coat and tossing it onto the back of the chair.
“Why did you?” she said when he took her cloak from her and placed it beside his coat.
Time had run out. He needed to tell her the truth now.
Suzanne walked slowly into the room, looking around. The rebels had burned everything they’d owned at Manipora. There was nothing of his life with Rebecca here. No traces of his life in India or anything to indicate that he’d spent a substantial amount of his life there.
Instead, the room was furnished with Mrs. Ross’s castoffs: a comfortable sofa upholstered in a faded blue fabric, a chair with a flower print beside the fire, two tables, each equipped with a lamp. A few bits of statuary, a faded blue-and-red carpet on the wood floor. Shabby yet welcoming. Nothing pretentious or costing a fortune, just a few places to sit and talk or read.
He had arrived back in England with a valise and two changes of clothing. That’s all. He’d acquired some additional clothes, but he hadn’t made any substantial purchases for his rooms. Without much effort he could walk out the door and leave little trace of himself behind.
He glanced toward her, then away. The moment the words were spoken, things would change between them. The friendship that had grown in the past few weeks, the easy camaraderie they enjoyed, all that would vanish.
He’d be left only with the longing.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ever since leaving Marsley House, Suzanne felt as if she were living a different life. She wasn’t the Duchess of Marsley at the moment, but someone else. Perhaps she was just Suzanne Hackney, the girl she’d wondered about a few days earlier.
No noise penetrated the heavy door to the corridor. She couldn’t hear anyone else in the house. It was as if the world faded away.
Adam didn’t answer her, but strode through the sitting room, leaving her to follow.
The room she entered was flooded by light from the six windows facing a garden. She watched as Adam opened two of the windows on either side of a door. The day was chilly, but the air was fresh, laden with the scent of flowers.
A rectangular table was against the far wall with a stool beneath it. A large metal-rimmed bowl for washing up was stacked next to a few dishes and cups. The opposite wall held a fireplace with a curious stove in the middle of it, something that looked as if it could be used not only to heat the room but also to cook.
The closest she could come to labeling this space was to think of it as half kitchen, half conservatory. Granted, the plants were on the outside, but it would be difficult to ignore the blowsy beauty of the late-blooming flowers. The yellow wallpaper, in a geometric pattern, brightened the space even more.
“These are your lodgings?” she asked as he went to the round table in the middle of the room and pulled out a chair for her.
“They are.”
“Yet you live at Marsley House.”
“Only recently,” he said.
“But you felt it necessary to keep lodgings elsewhere?”
“There�
��s something I have to tell you, Your Grace.”
He called her that—Your Grace—when he wanted to distance himself from her. She got the hint, but it annoyed her nonetheless.
“What is it, Adam?”
Her use of his first name was deliberate. He might want to distance himself from her, but she had kissed him. More than once. Their kisses had been wondrous, something she’d never before experienced.
She’d confided in him. He had confided in her. Did he think their conversations were everyday occurrences? She’d never shared her pain with anyone else and now he was calling her Your Grace?
She sat, placing her hands atop the table. She hadn’t worn her hat or her gloves. Or brought her reticule. No wonder Mrs. Ross had looked at her oddly. What kind of woman went somewhere without being properly dressed?
Someone flooded with curiosity. Someone fascinated and interested and too emotional right at the moment.
He sat opposite her, and stretched out his hands. For a moment she didn’t understand, but then he grabbed her hands and held them beneath his. She wanted to pull free, but she didn’t. She wanted the ache in her chest to disappear, but that didn’t happen, either.
“Why do you live here, Adam, when you should be living at Marsley House?” She wished her voice didn’t sound so plaintive. She cleared her throat. “I think I deserve an explanation, don’t you?”
He nodded, but didn’t speak for a moment.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked.
“No.”
One of his eyebrows arched. “Brandy?”
“No.”
“Is there anything you’d like?”
“An explanation. Why did you tell Mrs. Ross I was your cousin?”
“I couldn’t very well come out and tell her that I’d spirited the Duchess of Marsley to my rooms.”
She moved her gaze from their hands to his face. His cheeks were bronzed.
“I saw your father this morning,” he said.