A Wicked Gentleman

by Jane Feather

  “Do you have him…oh, thank God. Is he all right?”

  “I think so,” she said, carrying him carefully up the stairs. “He’s drugged, but he’ll come out of it soon. He’s already beginning to stir.”

  “Who the devil did this?” Aurelia demanded, outrage shaking her voice as she looked at the inert little body in her sister-in-law’s arms. “Who on earth would do such a thing?”

  “You won’t believe it when I tell you,” Cornelia said grimly as she entered the house. “I must take him upstairs. Linton will help.”

  “The little lad’s safe?” Morecombe stepped out of the shadows of the staircase. “Thank the good Lord, m’lady.” He called over his shoulder, “Our Ada…our Mavis, the lad’s back, all right and tight.”

  The twins emerged from the back regions at a near run, wiping their hands on their aprons. “Oh, mercy me,” Ada said, flinging her arms wide. “The poor little lamb.”

  “Poor little lamb,” Mavis reiterated, fluttering around Cornelia and her burden. “I’ll make ’im a junket. ’E likes my junket, ’e does, bless him.”

  “Aye, but I reckon ’e’ll need a spot o’ gruel first,” Ada declared. “Looks right poorly, ’e does, the poor lamb. I’ll get it goin’ right away.”

  “Thank you both.” Cornelia managed a fleeting smile despite her anxiety to get upstairs to the nursery. She hurried up the stairs, Aurelia and Livia in her wake.

  Linton gave a cry of joy as they came into the nursery and rushed across to Cornelia. “Oh, he’s safe. Oh, merciful heaven.” She flung her hands in the air and behind her, Daisy, still sodden, threw her apron over her face and burst into another flood of tears. Instantly Susannah and Franny, who’d been sitting by the fire solemnly sucking gingerbread, joined her in tearful wails, and Susannah hurled herself at her mother’s knees.

  Once order was restored, Cornelia sat with Stevie in the rocking chair by the fire, refusing to relinquish him. Susannah sat at her feet, sucking her thumb, resting her head on her mother’s lap, her eyes drooping after the exhaustion of the long morning.

  Linton, once more in command of herself and her domain, kept a sharp eye on them even as, wisely, she left mother and children to themselves.

  When Stevie finally stirred with more purpose than before, Cornelia felt a surge of relief so powerful she realized how terrified she still had been that he wouldn’t come out of his drugged stupor.

  He opened his eyes fully with a cry of protest, and threw up.

  “That’s better,” Linton said briskly, coming over to them. “Let him get rid of that poison, my lady…Daisy, girl, bring a basin, hot water, and cloths. Jump to it now.”

  Stevie vomited miserably for what seemed an eternity to Cornelia, who held him close throughout, rubbing his back and murmuring soft encouragement. But at last he lay back against her ruined gown and gazed up at her. “My head hurts, Mama.”

  “I know, sweetie. I know. It’ll pass soon, I promise.”

  “He needs a nice warm bath and some hot milk,” Linton said authoritatively. “And then a proper sleep. Then he’ll be right as rain.” She reached down to take the child from his mother. “Give him here, my lady, and you go and get yourself cleaned up. I’ll look after him.”

  Stevie allowed himself to be relinquished to the familiar arms of his nurse, and Cornelia stood up, gingerly holding her skirts.

  “Take off your dress, and I’ll fetch your nightrobe,” Livia said. She and Aurelia had remained in the nursery throughout.

  “Thank you, Liv.” Gratefully, Cornelia accepted Aurelia’s helping hands with her gown, then sponged herself roughly with hot water and a cloth before slipping into the robe that Livia brought up for her.

  Linton was bathing Stevie in a bath in front of the fire, and the child seemed to have regressed to babyhood, offering none of his usual protests or comments. Cornelia knelt by the tub, wondering if it was wise to remind him of what had happened. But then she decided it couldn’t be ignored. It might frighten him more if it wasn’t acknowledged.

  “Can you remember what happened, sweetheart?” she asked, reaching for the washcloth.

  Stevie shook his head.

  “Did you see who took you?”

  The child shook his head again. Then he whimpered. “My head still hurts.”

  “That’s because you drank something nasty,” Cornelia told him. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.”

  Stevie nodded again, as if reassured, and his eyes started to droop. Linton scooped him out of the water, wrapping him in a thick towel. “Let’s tuck you into bed, my sweet. Mama will read you a story.”

  It was an hour later before Cornelia left the nursery, satisfied that her son was sleeping a natural, healthy sleep. She needed a bath herself, but was not surprised to find Livia and Aurelia waiting for her in her bedchamber.

  “So, who did this?” Livia asked without preamble.

  “Well, Nigel’s in there somewhere. Although I really don’t think he had any truck with Stevie’s kidnapping.” Wearily Cornelia sank into the chair by the fire. “I don’t know the whole, but I’ll tell you what I do know.”

  They listened in an incredulous silence and when she was finished, Aurelia said wonderingly, “So this house is the key to all this. Harry wanted to buy the house from the beginning, presumably because of the thimble…”

  “Except that Lester said the thimble had no significance.” Cornelia leaned down to her stained dress that she’d dropped in a heap on the floor. She found the pocket and took out the thimble. “Actually, what he said was these engravings have no significance.” She held it up. “What did that mean?”

  “That there’s another thimble?” Livia suggested.

  “And because Harry knew this was not the thimble they wanted, whoever they are, he didn’t bother to take it with him when he went to rescue Stevie.” Cornelia leaned back against her chair and closed her eyes. It all made some weird sense in a world that bore no relation to the ordinary one she and her friends inhabited. Somehow they’d strayed into another one.

  “How did Nigel get involved?” Aurelia asked after a minute. “It seems incredible.”

  “I imagine he found himself in a terrifying nightmare,” Cornelia said rather dully. “Somehow he found himself in the company of people for whom a life means nothing.” She thought of the dead man on the floor of the tavern and shuddered. A life meant little enough to Viscount Bonham and his cohorts.

  “And what of Harry?” Aurelia leaned forward on the window seat where she was perched. “Do you think he’ll tell you everything now?”

  Cornelia laughed shortly. “He’ll not have the chance, Ellie. I don’t intend to set eyes on him again. And as soon as Stevie’s fit to travel, I’m going home with my children.”

  “Yes, of course,” Aurelia said quickly. “We’ll leave by the end of the week.”

  “No…no, you don’t have to come with me,” Cornelia said. “Of course you don’t. You and Liv stay here. You’re enjoying yourselves. I’ll take Linton, if you can spare her. Daisy can stay here with Franny. She’s perfectly competent with one child.”

  Her friends exchanged glances that she couldn’t read, but before either of them could speak, there was a knock at the door. “My lady, that viscount’s here,” Morecombe announced from the corridor. “Wants t’ see you summat urgent.”

  Cornelia stiffened. “Tell him I’m not at home, Morecombe.”

  “Oh, aye. Likes as not he’ll not believe me.”

  Cornelia got up and went to open the door. “It doesn’t matter whether he does or not, Morecombe. I won’t see him. Tell him that if you wish.”

  “Oh, aye.” Morecombe shuffled off towards the stairs again.

  Livia and Aurelia rose as if they both heard the same summons. “We’ll leave you to bathe, Nell, and get some rest,” Livia said. “Shall we have dinner in the parlor, as we used to before we became so grand that we had to dine in the dining salon?” She attempted a light laugh, but it had a somewhat hollow
ring.

  “Yes, I’d like that,” Cornelia said with a warm smile. “I’ll probably take a short nap after my bath. Dinner at six?”

  “Six o’clock,” Aurelia affirmed, leaning in to kiss her sister-in-law. “Poor love, you’ve had a rotten time. Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do?”

  Cornelia shook her head, trying to hide the sheen of tears in her eyes. “No, but thank you both. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

  “Seems to me you did rather well on your own,” Aurelia said briskly. “Disarming some knife-wielding thug.” She touched the scratch on Cornelia’s neck. “I think Linton should look at that.”

  “It’s nothing. It doesn’t hurt.” Cornelia moved her head gently aside. “I’ll bathe it with warm water and use a little witch hazel. It’s a mere scratch.”

  Her friends offered no further comment and left her alone. And once she was safely alone, the key turned in the lock, Cornelia allowed the tears to flow. Relief mingled with despair, joy with grief. She had her child safe, but she had lost the possibility of a happiness that, without considering how it was to be achieved, she had insensibly begun to consider her due.

  Harry listened to Morecombe’s uninformative denial in tight-lipped silence. He’d heard from Lester what had transpired in the carriage, and he knew he had but one chance to put things straight. And that one chance was a mere thread at best. But he would not give up. It was not in his nature to accept defeat. He knew what he had done, and he could guess what and how Cornelia was feeling. But she was a reasonable woman, a highly intelligent woman. She would see both sides. She would consider his position. Once her hurt and anger had died down, she would see things clearly.

  He accepted that now he had no choice but to tell her everything. And if that confidence compromised his service, then so be it. He had given twelve years to that service, and much as he loved his work, if continuing meant losing this woman, then he would retire.

  He shook his head impatiently as Morecombe made to close the front door on him, and before it shut, he put his shoulder against it and heaved. His second unceremonious entrance in one day, he reflected dourly, following his own momentum into the hall.

  “My apologies,” he said perfunctorily to the dazed butler. “Where’s Lady Dagenham?”

  “You can’t see her,” Aurelia said from the stairs as she came down to the hall.

  “No, she’s not well enough to see you,” Livia corroborated from behind her.

  Both women regarded him with unconcealed hostility as they stood at the bottom of the stairs. “I’d have thought you’d have the sensitivity to leave her alone after what she’s been through,” Aurelia said in frigid tones.

  Harry sighed. “I don’t think any of you fully understand—”

  “What is there to understand?” Livia interrupted furiously. “We understand that a five-year-old child has been vomiting uncontrollably for the last hour. We understand that our friend has been pushed almost to the brink of insanity with fear for her child. And we understand that if not for you, none of that would have happened.”

  Harry took an involuntary step backwards at this tirade. Livia, usually so soft and gentle, was a veritable termagant, her gray eyes blasting fury, her black hair springing out around her face as if infused with her rage.

  He looked in appeal at Aurelia, who stood in stony silence, her brown eyes cold. Then he recovered the initiative. “Where is she?” Even as he asked the question he headed for the stairs. It was a reasonable assumption that if her friends were coming downstairs, Cornelia would be upstairs.

  “You can’t go up.” Livia planted herself in front of him.

  “Oh, yes, I can,” he said, firmly putting her to one side. “This lies between Nell and me.” He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Livia and Aurelia staring after him.

  He went first to Cornelia’s bedchamber. If she wasn’t there, he’d head for the nursery. The door was locked.

  “Cornelia, please let me in.” He kept his voice even, the demand couched as a request.

  “Go away, Harry. We have nothing to say to each other.” She sounded weary.

  “Oh, but we most certainly do,” he declared, aware that the other two women were now standing behind him. “I’ll break this damn door down, if I have to. Now, let me in.”

  Cornelia stood irresolute in the middle of her chamber. She had little doubt that if Harry was determined, he would indeed break down the door. Or find some other way to get to her. And in truth she knew that there was no point running away from this. It needed to be finished, once and for all. She went to the door and turned the key, then walked away from it, back to the fireplace.

  Harry opened the door and came in. Livia and Aurelia stepped forward at the same time. “I appreciate your concern, but believe it or not, Nell doesn’t need protection from me,” he stated, closing the door in their faces and turning the key once again.

  He faced her as she stood in front of the fire, holding the robe closed at the neck. She looked ineffably tired and he longed to take her in his arms, to kiss the fatigue from her eyes, to stroke the tension from the tall, slender frame. There was an emptiness to her eyes that filled him with sorrow.

  “Oh, my dear love,” he murmured, coming quickly towards her. “I will never forgive myself for this.” He tried to draw her close, but she stepped away from him, warding him off with upraised hands.

  “What is it you’ll never forgive yourself for, Harry?” she asked with a cold detachment. “For pretending to love me, pretending to be my friend? For using me?…No, let me have my say,” she demanded fiercely as he tried to interrupt. “You’ve forced this upon me, and by God you’ll listen to me.”

  Harry acknowledged this with a faint inclination of his head and moved away to stand in front of the window, his hands loosely at his sides, his clear green eyes filled with pain as he gazed unwaveringly at her.

  Bitter anger, the knowledge of betrayal, wretched hurt, and humiliation at being duped fueled her eloquence. She made no attempt to modify her denunciation, instead allowed the most powerfully hurtful words full rein, and Harry stood and listened in silence.

  When finally the eloquence ran dry, he said, “I dispute only one accusation, Nell. You say I never loved you. That’s not true. I have loved you for many weeks now. I cannot imagine not loving you.”

  There was such quiet confidence in the statement that Cornelia was unable to voice the scornful dismissal that rose to her tongue. “How can you say that?” she asked. “If you loved me, you would not have put me, my family, my friends, into this position.”

  He sighed and felt for words. “Lester was here to protect you. I was here, all the time. We were looking for Nigel. I truly didn’t believe that there was any real danger for any of you. Once I’d retrieved the thimble—”

  “You knew that Nigel was somehow involved?” She stared in disbelief. “And you didn’t say anything to any of us. And what do you mean, ‘retrieved the thimble’?” She pushed her tumbled hair away from her face with a distracted air.

  “I saw no need to tell you about Nigel,” he said. “I thought we had the situation well under control. I couldn’t risk jeopardizing an operation—”

  “Oh, of course, your operation…your mission…or whatever you want to call it.” Blue flames enlivened her previously dull gaze as she interrupted him. “And just what was that mission, Harry? I would like to judge whether it was worth the agony my son went through.”

  “Hear me out then.” His tone clipped as if he were giving an official debriefing, he told her everything from the moment the thimble disappeared from his house.

  Cornelia listened and even though she wanted to dismiss his words as feeble excuses for the inexcusable, her rational mind reasserted itself through the tangle of angry emotions. There had been lives at stake, many lives. It was sheer misfortune that she and her friends had walked unknowingly into the midst of a web of espionage. All that was true.

  “You had no
need to involve me…my heart, my soul, in this operation,” she said when he’d fallen silent. Her voice sounded thick to her ears, thick with hurt and disappointment, and mortification. “You made love to me, I made love to you. Was that necessary in order for you to retrieve your damnable codes?”

  “At first I wanted you,” he said simply. “And then I realized I loved you, and the reason for getting involved in the first place was no longer relevant.” He took a step towards her. “Nell, my love, please…you must believe me, there was nothing deliberate or manipulative about the times we shared.”

  He reached for her hands, but she jerked them away and he let his hands fall helplessly to his sides again. “I never expected to fall in love. But I want…no need…to spend the rest of my life with you. Without you I will have no life.”

  “What are you saying?” Her eyes were still cold, her voice expressionless as she refused to acknowledge the first faint stirring of an emotion that was not anger or hurt.

  “Will you marry me, Nell?” The words were blunt, but in his eyes doubt warred with conviction, despair with hope.

  Cornelia simply stared at him. “You know that’s impossible. Even if I wanted to…after all this…” She gestured widely as if to encompass the whole canvas of their history. “Even if I could forget that you put my children, my friends, myself in danger for some mission that meant more to you than our safety, I couldn’t ally myself with a man who’s been accused of murdering his wife. A man with that stain upon his reputation…I would lose my children. You must know that.”

  Harry inhaled sharply as if trying to catch his breath after a blow to the solar plexus. “Who told you?”

  “Your great-aunt. But what does it matter who told me?” She shrugged, shaking her head in exasperation.

  “I would have found out one day, and you can be certain that my father-in-law has heard the story. And he would use it to get Stevie, make no mistake. Of course I can’t marry you. The only hope I have of recovering from this episode is to go home to the country and hope that no whisper of this reaches the earl.”