“You must not die, but not only for my sake,” the Marquess answered, clinging to her hand even more tightly. “I shall be the happy recipient of that honor, but no, you must get better for your own happiness, a happiness that I will guarantee for the rest of your very long life.”
“Why?” Luci managed, her eyes closing with exhaustion from the effort.
“Because I will never forget the image of you lying upon the ground,” he replied, sobbing softly. “It will be burned in my mind until such time as I no longer remember my own name, and even then, that will be the one memory I can summon. Turning you over in my arms and seeing your face as if you were already dead will haunt me forever.”
“Your conscience, then?” she rasped. “I must live only to soothe your conscience?” She was prevented from saying more by a fit of racking coughs that seized her, bending her nearly in two as she fought for air.
“Never. That is not your concern, but mine,” Lord Ambergrave insisted. “But you must also live because… because I love you.”
“What did you say?”
“I will gladly repeat it,” the Marquess said sweetly, “and will say it again any time you summon me to do so. I love you, Luci. I have ever since our very first argument. You have a fire in your spirit that is unparalleled, one that seeks to understand the world, to right any wrongs. It is unmatched in any woman I’ve ever met.”
“You’re teasing me now,” she said, sinking back against the pillows and feeling a fresh wave of sadness. She knew it would be too good to be true that the Marquess might have felt anything for her, especially in her current state.
“I swear that I am not,” he insisted. “You have all of the trappings that any young lady of good manners and breeding has, but you are more than that.”
His voice shook with emotion as he continued, “You railed at me for your perception that I had misused Collin, that I had taken advantage of his mother and then cast them aside. Do you understand how many people in our very own social standing, people in this very ton, would think nothing of it? But not you. You called me out for it, and even if you were mistaken, you were prepared to declare my shame for it. It was the most noble thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Luci was silent, her mind swirling with impossibilities. How could he love her after only a short time as this? And after his callous treatment of her? She was certainly moved by his agony and by his concern for others, but his declarations? That was another matter.
As if he could read her very thoughts, Lord Ambergrave said, “I do not expect you to return the sentiment, but I only beg of you to believe it to be true. I will prove my love to you, no matter what I must do. But I cannot unless you get well.”
“I shall do my best,” Luci replied, hoping her thin voice sounded playful. “If not for your sake, at least my own.”
“Certainly for your sake and not mine,” he answered quietly, placing her hand against his cheek. “It is all that matters.”
Luci could not remember a time when she had been more afraid. It wasn’t fear of death that chilled her now, for death would almost be welcome if it would replace this miserable sickness. No, she feared her own heart, as it was all too willing to heed Lord Ambergrave’s words and accept them as truth. But how could she? How could she allow herself to believe that a man who had accused her of the vilest of sins would have such a reformed spirit?
Though she wanted to steel her heart against his desperate words, she had longed to hear them, too. She loved this man, though she knew not why. Everything about him, about their marriage, should have turned her blood to ice in her veins. Instead, his tearful speech warmed her more than any remedy or medicine could. She felt his words and his loving sentiments moving through her limbs, repairing any harm and instilling in her a desire to be strong again for the both of them.
“Will you stay?” Luci whispered, stretching out her hand towards him so that he might take it once again.
“Yes. I will stay as long as you wish, My Lady,” Lord Ambergrave replied, kneeling at her bedside and smiling through his grief.
“Thank you,” she said as her eyes closed again. “I wish… for you to stay.”
“You there. Up on yer feet!” the gaoler bellowed through the small window as he turned the heavy iron key in the latch. He hauled open the wooden door and lunged for Bradley, pulling him up by the back of his collar.
“There’s someone as here to see ya!” he shouted as Bradley blinked in confusion. “Get a move on, ya won’t be keeping his lordship waiting.”
“His lordship?” Bradley asked, numb with both cold and confusion. “Who is this man?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. He says he knows ya and can vouch for ya, though ya got no proof of who ya claim to be.” The gaoler pressed on down the hallway lined with similar cells, spurring Bradley forward with his fist in the Earl’s back.
The stone floor echoed with their footsteps and the occasional drip of water from somewhere. Once a horse barn, the stalls had been converted to cells that could house four men apiece. They still carried the stench of horse dung and the fleas that lived in the hay on the floor, but Bradley had heard tales of gaols that were not nearly so fine as this one.
Bradley tried not to look left or right as he walked the long passageway, but he could not help but see the men who jeered at him through the bars of their cells. He had made no friends here—in fact, he had probably made a number of enemies, should these men ever see him again—perhaps due to his insistence that he was the Earl of Stillscar.
“And I’m the blasted king of England,” the gaoler had called back that first day. The insult was followed by a punch to Bradley’s stomach that doubled him in half. An uppercut to his face had sent him sprawling backwards in a daze, and when he next became aware of his surroundings, he was in a cell.
At least it had been a solitary one, not a confined space to be shared with the others. Perhaps there was a chance these bumpkins believed him after all. More likely, the gaoler didn’t want to face a cell of his own when word got out how he’d treated a member of the upper class, and a nobleman at that.
“Here he be,” the gaoler said in a bored voice as he led Bradley to the small office—what had once been the tack room, judging by the rows of nails that ran the length of the small space, high up on the walls. “Ya said ya could claim him?”
“Yes, that is correct,” the Duke of Renfeld said, his disdain for both the gaol and Bradley obvious. Turning to his stepbrother, the Duke covered his mouth with his hand as though to ward off any contagion, and said, “Good God, it’s worse than I imagined.”
“Renfeld. Good to see you, too,” Bradley said. He knew he should be grateful for his brother’s appearance, but he was also keenly aware that his gaol cell might be preferable to whatever Bernard had to say to him.
“Ya said ya can vouch for him, eh?” the gaoler asked, reminding the Duke of the purpose of his trip.
“Yes, unfortunately,” Renfeld replied, his loathing of everything about this place—including Bradley—obvious in his tone and manners. “He is Bradley Landon, Earl of Stillscar, and my brother. I will sign the affidavit agreeing to such under penalty of lying to an officer of the magistrate.”
“Aye, ‘tis good enough fer me, Yer Grace. Put yer mark here in the book and take him out from here.” The officer pointed to a line in a ledger book that listed Bradley’s name and offense.
“Do I not need to sign for my freedom?” Bradley asked, somewhat bemused.
“Nope. Don’t care who ya are, only him,” the gaoler answered with a jerk of his head towards Renfeld. “Yer only worth somethin’ ‘cause he says ya is.”
“Lovely. Well, that sounds about like my entire life anyway, might as well be true enough here,” the Earl answered, not meeting his brother’s angry gaze.
Outside, Bradley took a deep breath to clear the stench of the gaol from his lungs, then immediately regretted it. The surrounding yard and the nearby river only compounded the polluted air th
at had greeted him for the last many days. Noting how Renfeld strode off in the direction of his carriage without so much as a pause, Bradley hurried to follow him.
“I pray you have an excellent excuse for what you’ve done,” the Duke said, gritting his teeth in anger as he spoke.
“I’m certain I do, and I’m equally certain you don’t actually care to hear it,” Bradley replied.
“You’re right, I don’t care. If only because there is no possible excuse for your behavior. What were you thinking? Accosting a married woman, the wife of a Marquess, at that?” Renfeld demanded, whirling around to face his brother. “I looked into the man before I interfered in your case and came up here. Lord Ambergrave has more wealth than anyone I know, and I know plenty of well-to-do people.”
“So it would have been all right with you if I pursued a married woman so long as her husband was poor?” Bradley asked, unable to stop himself from riling up his brother’s mood with a jest.
“Watch yourself,” the Duke hissed angrily. “Ambergrave has the kind of money that can make you disappear—a favor I already feel compelled to beg of him.”
“Well, here’s to hoping he plans to invest in timber instead of manslaughter, right?” the Earl joked, following Renfeld all the way to his carriage.
“What are you doing?” Renfeld asked, turning on Bradley and grimacing. “You’re not getting in my carriage.”
“What? Why not?”
“You stink of bodily filth and you’re undoubtedly crawling with lice… or worse,” the Duke said, suddenly looking away and trying to determine whether anyone of note could see him speaking to his brother in his disgusting state. “Besides, I’m only here to clear you of this humiliating mess—”
“And I’m very grateful to you for that,” Bradley said, taking a step closer.
“I did not do it for your sake,” Renfeld said, holding up his hand to stop Bradley from coming nearer. “I did it to spare the rest of us any gossip and embarrassment. This will already be the subject of conversation throughout the ton, as if it wasn’t already shameful enough to have your lack of achievement hanging over all of our heads. If I can spare us any further embarrassment, it will be worth the price and my time. Here.”
The Duke reached into his waistcoat pocket and retrieved a few heavy coins. He held them out disdainfully and dropped them into Bradley’s outstretched hand, being careful that they did not actually make contact.
“This should be sufficient for you to acquire a room and a much-needed bath—preferably one with scalding water and some form of soap that blisters the skin—and a wagon to take you somewhere.” The Duke retrieved his handkerchief and coughed into it, gagging on some displeasing smell or another.
“Wait, there is one more thing I must ask of you,” Bradley said, putting out his hand to delay his brother but stopping. “I need to know some information about a certain man. Anything you can find that might help me.”
“And why should I help you?” the Duke sneered.
“Because with the proper sort of information, perhaps I could stop being a constant thorn in your side,” Bradley answered, smiling mischievously.
The Duke thought it over, giving his brother an appraising look. Finally, he nodded and agreed, taking down the man’s name. He started to climb into his waiting carriage again, but turned back only long enough to say, “And Bradley, I will not come to your rescue again. If there are any more incidents such as this, I will publicly disavow you and cut off what annual inheritance you have. Do not test me on this.”
A light rain began to fall as the Duke of Renfeld pulled away in his carriage, leaving Bradley to stare after him while his feet slowly sunk lower in the mud and grime. Looking around at his surroundings, Bradley took note of no better option than to walk in the direction of a larger town. Pocketing his brother’s gold coins, he began to whistle cheerfully as he strode away from the riverbank and its loathsome prison.
As he walked, he kept his eyes open for a farmer’s wagon where he might beg a brief ride. His mood lifted tremendously with the exercise, the first feeling of vigor returning to his spirit since the night he had visited Luci. He’d had these many days to think on what had gone wrong with his plan, and even more time to contrive a new one. He knew what he must do now, and he would set it in motion as soon as he returned home… however long that may take him.
Chapter 18
“If you’ll sign here, My Lord, then the bill of sale is yours. Congratulations on your new endeavor,” the clerk said, beaming at Lord Thornshire. Reginald Davids looked on, obviously pleased as well.
“Thank you, good sir. It certainly feels good to be back in business,” Lord Thornshire replied, folding the document and placing it in his leather satchel.
“Will this ship be conducting cargo under your former firm? The Delaware Company?” Davids asked, but Lord Thornshire shook his head.
“No, no, that company is finished. This will be a small operation, only the one vessel at first. From there, once the investment is redeemed, any profits will be put aside until there is sufficient funds to purchase a second,” he explained. “I have no wish to take on investors or partners again, as that is what led to all of my troubles to begin with.”
“Quite understandable,” Davids acknowledged with a firm nod, “and quite a reasonable course of action. A man of your business sense and esteem will have no trouble at all building up his profits in a very short time.”
“Thank you, Davids,” Lord Thornshire said warmly. “That means a great deal coming from someone in your position. I will admit that our last meeting did not put me in good stead, but thanks to a matter of funds I managed to secure, I am ready to begin again. The remainder of my debt will be paid rather soon.”
Lord Thornshire’s visage clouded over briefly as he remembered how he had come into this money. With the bulk of his most pressing debts paid off and some funds set aside for immediate use, Thornshire was able to secure a steady ship and begin his business all over again. But even as his situation was improving every day, he could not help but remember that it had cost him his only child, his beloved daughter.
“Right, then.” Lord Thornshire smiled at the clerk and the undersecretary. “I’ll just be seeing to my new ship and assuring all is in order. You have the half payment, and you’ll have my first nominal payment within the week.”
“Very good, My Lord, and dare I say it, welcome back,” Davids said, bowing to the Earl.
“It’s good to be back,” he called as he left the office and headed to the docks. There, beyond many of the other vessels that awaited their place in line to be loaded, was his new ship.
While not as fancy as any of the ships in his once-grand fleet, it was serviceable and sturdy. Lord Thornshire had no need of fine accoutrements, he merely needed it to be seaworthy and capable of reaching its destination with its cargo intact. If there was a lesson to be learned from his humiliating fall from wealth, it was that money in hand was far more valuable than the promise of riches.
Surveying his new investment, Lord Thornshire was struck with inspiration. His daughter’s sacrifice had made this return to business possible, and he would see to it that it benefitted her greatly. He would set aside a measure of his profits for her use, to be determined as she saw fit. Should she voice her displeasure at any time of the choice of Lord Ambergrave as a husband, he would bring her home willingly and return the Marquess’ funds in exchange.
“Insomuch as I need a gesture to remind me of this bold plan,” he said to himself quietly, “I christen this ship Luci’s Return.”
Lady Thornshire stared out the window of her sister’s morning room, lost in thought. The meticulously trimmed acreage stretched on for as far as she could see, an endless sea of picturesque green. Still, a swarm of gardeners was already at work despite the early hour, trimming back the hedgerows and taking clippings of the roses and camellias for the ball.
“I am not so certain of the wisdom of serving fish as the third cours
e,” the Duchess of Hardigree muttered, looking at some pages in her hand. “It might not sit well with some who have delicate stomachs, especially if there is to be much dancing and the weather turns much warmer. What do you think, Angeline?”
“Hmmm, what? I’m sorry, I did not hear,” Lady Thornshire replied, looking rather sheepish. “My mind was on Luci. I have not had a letter from her in some time.”
“Well, how would you? You’ve been here all this time,” her sister snapped. Her tone softened when she said, “But we have pressing matters to attend to. I must come up with something to serve during the third course.”
“Pheasant,” Lady Thornshire said dismissively. She knew it was far better to provide her older sister with an answer to her mundane problems than to attempt to make her see reason.
“What? I cannot possibly serve pheasant since there is a quail dish immediately after. I swear, Angeline, it’s as though you have no desire to be of help to me,” Lady Hardigree screeched, frightening the small dog who’d been sleeping in her lap. “Now be serious and put your attention on this most pressing matter.”
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