by Cheryl Holt
“I’ll deal with my father. You just help Libby. Tell her I’ll visit her shortly.”
“I will tell her.”
They had quite an audience by then, with guests staring as if it were an exciting theatrical play.
“What’s happened?” one of Penny’s friends asked. “Why is Miss Carstairs under arrest?”
“Libby Carstairs is my father’s lost daughter,” Penny announced to the assembled company. “She is Little Henrietta, and there are some people—my aunt for instance—who want to deny it and hide her away.”
The declaration brought gasps, titters, and even a few shouts of astonishment.
“Is this some kind of party joke?” another friend asked. “Is it a trick?”
“No, it’s no joke,” Penny said. “Libby Carstairs is my sister, and my father and aunt are working hard to keep the news from spreading.”
Millicent stepped into the hall, and she was aghast as she demanded of Penny, “What have you done?”
“I’ve admitted the truth, Aunt Millicent. This isn’t a secret you can conceal. It’s too big.”
“The story is not true!” Millicent insisted to the gaping crowd. “Penny hasn’t been well, and she’s babbling nonsense.”
Spectators mumbled their disdain, and several openly laughed at her, but others were slipping outside, eager to ride to London as fast as they could so they could brag about how they’d been present when the information was first disseminated.
When Libby had originally told Simon about her being Henrietta, he hadn’t known what to think, but that cat was out of the bag. From this moment on, the whole world would believe she was Henrietta, so he’d believe it too.
“I have to go,” he said to Penny.
“Go! But hurry back!”
“I will.”
He dipped down and kissed her right in front of everyone. Some of the onlookers gawked with amazement, but most of them were rushing upstairs to pack so they could return to town and join in the frenzy over Libby. The party was definitely over.
As he and Penny drew apart and she smiled up at him, it dawned on him that he might like having her for his very own. In fact, he might like it just fine. His seduction had started as a lark, but maybe it would be much more than that. He might wind up obscenely rich too and that would simply be icing on the cake.
He spun away and skipped out the door. Libby needed him, and he’d always been the one man who could keep her out of trouble.
“Were you successful?”
“Yes, much more than I thought I’d be when I initially departed for town.”
Luke sighed with relief and nodded at Charles. It was a chilly day, and they were sitting by the fire in the small family parlor at Barrett. Charles had stopped by on his way home from London so he could report on how he’d fared in tamping down Libby’s rumors. They were having a brandy, and Charles was warming himself, then he would continue on to Roland.
“I managed to reach the newspaper office,” Charles said, “and chat with the owner before that weasel, Mr. Periwinkle, arrived. He was a very rational fellow, and he realized how a whiff of innuendo would set off pandemonium we couldn’t control. He agreed to ignore it.”
“You didn’t have to bribe or threaten him?” Luke asked.
“No. He was extremely reasonable. Years ago, he’d published articles about Henrietta’s disappearance, as well as about Libby and those other girls being rescued. He recognized how fascinating both tales were to the masses, and he swore he would never distress me by reigniting the controversies.”
“I don’t imagine Periwinkle will be too thrilled to have this quashed. He didn’t seem the type to give up easily.”
“Apparently, he’s a loyal employee, and if he’s ordered to forget about it, he will.”
Luke snorted at that, not trusting the cretin for a single second. “What will you do about Libby? You’ve suppressed a public airing of her claims, but you still have to deal with her inclination to share it more quietly.”
Charles blew out a heavy breath. “I haven’t decided the best route. I’ve been fussing about it the entire trip to the city and back.”
“What if she’s telling the truth, Charles? Have you considered that possibility?”
“I’ve reflected on nothing else since I left for London.”
“She could be your daughter.”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
Luke liked having an excuse to discuss Libby. The prior time he’d been at Barrett, she’d been there with him. It had been the rainy day when they’d been caught in a deluge out on the lane. He’d slyly convinced her to tarry, then he’d taken advantage of their isolation and her affection. After that marvelous night, everything had fallen to pieces.
The last occasion he’d seen her, they’d fought quite viciously. She’d surprised him with her shocking assertion about being Henrietta, and he’d been so astounded—and so dubious—that he’d basically called her a liar and a fraud. They’d been stupid words uttered in the heat of the moment, and he hadn’t meant them.
Or maybe he’d meant them, but with him having calmed down, he was fervidly wishing they could be retracted.
What if he saddled a horse and rode to London to talk to her?
He was positive—if he could even locate her—she’d refuse to speak to him. If he forced his way into her presence anyway, she’d likely slap him silly for being an idiot, and he was too proud to suffer such a humiliating rejection.
Yet he was so pathetically morose without her. He’d been incessantly pondering his miserable condition, and gradually, it had dawned on him that he might be in love with her. He couldn’t deduce any other explanation for why he’d be so glum.
He ought to be glad they’d separated. He ought to be celebrating, but the pitiful fact was that he was hideously despondent. He’d never been close to a woman before. He’d never been . . . been . . . in love. That was the problem.
He’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow, but then, he’d behaved like the biggest ass in the world, so how did he beg her forgiveness? Why would he expect to receive it? Then again, perhaps she was as forlorn as he was. Might she be missing him as dreadfully as he was missing her?
He kept wondering—if he showed up at the theater and waltzed into her dressing room—how she’d react. What if she tried to shoot him again? Or . . . what if she’d been pining away, hoping he’d muster the courage to chase after her? How was a fellow to guess what a crazed female like Libby Carstairs might be thinking?
Charles interrupted his wretched reverie. “I’ll let things settle for a few weeks, then I’ll go to town and meet with Libby.”
“That’s a good plan.”
“I became a bit . . . friendly with Miss Fishburn while she was at Roland.”
Charles’s cheeks flushed, and Luke smirked. “How friendly?”
“Never you mind, but I’ll ask Fish about Libby. Fish is an excellent judge of character, and she’ll have some pertinent comments about all of this. I didn’t treat either woman very kindly, so I’m not sure they’d allow me in the door.”
“I was just contemplating the same response from them,” Luke said. “We’re a ridiculous pair, aren’t we?”
“Yes. I always hate to distress anyone, and I like both of them so much. I feel terrible.”
Luke’s butler, Mr. Hobbs, knocked once, then entered without waiting to be summoned.
“Lord Barrett!” He rushed over to Luke. “I apologize for barging in, but you have to read this immediately.” He was holding the London newspaper, and he laid it in Luke’s lap. “Miss Carstairs has been arrested!”
“What?” Luke and Charles said in unison.
Hobbs glared at Charles, his expression unusually caustic. “Evidently, Lord Roland arranged for it to occur.”
Charles frowned. “I most certainly d
id not. Let me see that!”
He yanked the paper away from Luke, and they perused it, their ire and astonishment spiraling.
The main headline was huge and exasperating: LITTLE HENRIETTA FOUND AT LAST!
The others were smaller, but no less infuriating: Libby Carstairs, Mystery Girl of the Caribbean, Revealed as Little Henrietta! and Lord Roland Denies His Long-Lost Daughter! and Libby Carstairs Under Arrest! Lord Roland Determined to Hide the Truth!
“I thought you discussed this with the owner,” Luke said. “I thought he agreed he wouldn’t print any articles.”
“He swore he wouldn’t! How dare he trick me like this! I’ll have that bloody rag shut down as a public nuisance!”
Hobbs bristled, being entirely too blatant with his opinions. “Miss Carstairs stayed with us, Lord Barrett. Remember? She was lovely and gracious, and the whole staff is heartsick. To think that she’s Henrietta, and she’s been scorned and disbelieved by those who should know better!”
“Hobbs!” Luke warned. “That will be all. This information is a shock to us. Please leave us so we can digest it in peace.”
Hobbs bristled again, looked as if he’d jeopardize his job with another inappropriate remark, then he marched out. Luke and Charles froze, listening as his footsteps faded away, then Luke said, “What now?”
“This is a disaster! Have you any notion of the frenzy it will generate?”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Why have her imprisoned, Charles? That’s rather harsh, isn’t it? It definitely didn’t tamp down the gossip.”
“I didn’t have her imprisoned! I have no idea what’s happening.”
Suddenly, from out at the front of the house, doors were slamming and people were shouting. Then booted strides were audible and briskly stomping toward them. He and Charles leapt to their feet, braced for any eventuality.
Hobbs hurried in. “I’m sorry, Lord Barrett, but you have a visitor, and he wouldn’t—”
Before Hobbs could finish his sentence, Simon Falcon stormed in. His appearance was so odd and startling that Luke had to blink and blink to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
Falcon was dashing as ever, dressed in traveling clothes: leather trousers, knee-high boots, a warm coat and jaunty red kerchief tied around his throat. His color was high, his temper visible.
He honed in on Luke and said, “Have you heard about Libby?”
“We were just reading about it in the paper.”
Falcon whipped his hot gaze to Charles and said, “You! I’ll kill you for this!”
The demented boy actually lunged for Charles as if he might physically attack the older man, and Luke jumped between them, a palm on Falcon’s chest.
“Whoa, Falcon!” Luke ordered. “Back down! Right now!”
“He had her arrested!” Falcon said. “I tried to post her bail, and he’s such an important prick that no bail is being allowed!”
Charles threw up his hands. “It wasn’t me!” When they both glowered skeptically, he insisted, “I swear! I can’t guess what’s caused it.”
“Fish has been detained with her!” Falcon said.
Charles was so flabbergasted that Luke was surprised he didn’t faint.
“On what charge?” Charles asked.
“Apparently, she stole some of your precious cufflinks. I bribed a jailer who told me she was caught in your bedchamber with the items on her person!”
“If she was in my room,” Charles admitted, “she was there at my invitation.”
Luke was stunned to have Charles confess it aloud, and if Falcon was too, he didn’t show it. He was too angry.
He whipped his irate gaze to Luke and said, “Lord Roland—being the arrogant bastard that he is—is demanding that Libby be transported to the penal colonies. Fish too! He’s requested speedy trials, so he can be shed of the matter as quickly as the courts can manage it!”
Falcon was too incensed to restrain himself, and Charles was too bewildered to defend himself. Luke pushed Falcon away and said, “Stand behind that chair and don’t move unless I give you permission.”
Falcon dithered, nearly refused, then obeyed, and Luke said to Charles, “Sit down, Charles, before you fall down. We have to figure out the best course, and I need you lucid and participating in our discussion. You can’t collapse on me.”
Charles eased onto a chair, his expression distraught. “I know what might have occurred.”
“I know what occurred,” Falcon seethed. “Libby finally announced who she really is, and you can’t bear to discover that you have an actress as a daughter, but the tale is all over London. You’ll never make it go away. You can’t.”
“If Fish is implicated for being in my bedchamber,” Charles calmly stated, “then it has to be my sister-in-law, Millicent, who perpetrated this debacle.”
“You blame her?” Falcon said. “I was with her at Roland when this began, and she conveniently claimed you had arranged it. According to her, it’s all your fault.”
Charles sighed. “It wasn’t me. I went to the newspaper office in London and simply asked them not to print the story. I was aware of the chaos it would stir, but I wouldn’t have harmed Libby over it. I wasn’t livid. I was . . . flummoxed more than anything.”
“Your name and seal are on the legal documents,” Falcon said.
“Oh, no.” Charles sighed again. “Millicent had to have forged my signature and used my seal when she shouldn’t have.”
Luke shook his head with disgust. “It sounds as if you have some trouble to deal with at Roland.”
“Millicent is very protective of our family,” Charles said. “By ridding us of Libby, she would view herself as helping me.”
Luke scoffed. “If she would have Libby jailed, then she’s a bit beyond supplying you with help. She’s mad as a hatter.”
“I can understand her wrath against Libby,” Falcon said, “but why pick on Fish? What did she ever do to Miss Pendleton?”
Charles and Luke shared a grimace, with Charles silently begging Luke to change the subject. It appeared that plain old female jealousy might have played a part in Millicent’s decisions.
“Millicent doesn’t like Fish very much,” Luke said. “Let’s just leave it at that.”
Falcon was very cunning, and he scowled at Charles and said, “You seduced Fish? Gad, I ought to kill you for that alone! I’d have expected her to have better sense.”
Charles bristled and started to rise—as if he’d had enough of Falcon’s uncouth remarks— and Luke cut off a confrontation by saying, “Here is how we will proceed.”
Falcon’s retort was very snide. “I am absolutely on pins and needles waiting to hear.”
“You and I,” Luke told Falcon, “will ride to London and get Libby and Fish released.”
“How will we?” Falcon caustically inquired. “There’s been a denial of bail!”
“We’ll take a letter from Charles, asking that the prohibition be lifted, and don’t forget: I am a lord too. They wouldn’t dare tell me I can’t walk out with her.”
At the comment, Falcon’s temper visibly waned. He looked younger, less cocky, and quite relieved. “Can we depart immediately? I don’t want them to spend an extra minute in that foul place.”
“Yes, we can go at once.” Luke was warming to the notion of saving the two damsels in distress.
“I’ll accompany you,” Charles said. “I’m anxious to inform them that I wasn’t responsible for their incarceration. I’m bereft that they would believe I was.”
“You’re not coming,” Luke said to him. “First of all, if scandal is swirling in town, you can’t show your face there. Your presence would only stir more gossip, and if you were observed with Libby, imagine the frenzy that would erupt.”
“Gad, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Second of all, you and Mr. Falcon can’t travel to London together. I’d have to constantly keep him from pummeling you.”
Charles huffed with indignation. “I’m not the decrepit codger you assume I am. I’m betting I could match him blow for blow, and if he doesn’t shut his mouth and mind his manners, he’s about to find out how hard of a punch I can throw.”
“No one is throwing any punches.” Luke sounded like a fussy tutor struggling to discipline some recalcitrant boys. “You have to head to Roland and rein in Millicent. I’m in no mood to discover she’s plotted further mischief. You have to ensure that Falcon and I won’t receive any other surprises.”
Charles glared, pondered, glared some more, then said, “Yes, I suppose that’s a big worry. Who can predict what else she might have instigated? I’m stunned by what she’s managed so far. I wouldn’t have guessed she had it in her to be this devious.”
Charles stood then, and he peered over at Falcon. “When you see Fish and Libby, please tell them I’m not culpable. It’s important to me that they understand.”
Falcon fumed, clearly not keen to accept Charles’s olive branch, but in the end, he said, “I will tell them.”
Charles added, “Send a fast messenger to Roland as soon as you’ve won their release and they’re safe.”
“I will,” Luke said. “Now why don’t you hurry on to Roland? Falcon and I have to get going to London. We’ll rescue them; I swear it to you.”
“Thank you.” Charles stared at Falcon and said, “And I swear to you that Millicent will answer for what she’s done.”
“Good,” Falcon replied.
Charles nodded, then left.
Luke turned to Falcon and said, “Are you ready?”
“I was born ready.”
“Vain ass,” Luke muttered.
He and Falcon marched out too, with Luke calling for Mr. Hobbs, calling for his horse to be saddled, calling for a bag to be packed.
For days, he’d dawdled at Barrett, frozen with inaction and out of ideas as to how he should proceed with Libby. It felt so bloody grand to finally have a plan. He would pry her out of the jail, and she’d be so grateful for his assistance that he’d be able to apologize and they’d start over. It would have to conclude that way. Wouldn’t it?