Percy smiled even as he staggered. “Went to Bexley Court for Christmas, but Stillwell said you’d all come here.” He grabbed hold of the horse’s bridle, more to support himself than to keep the animal still.
He’d wanted to come home for Christmas? Percy hadn’t joined the family for anything in over two years. Perhaps he was finally ready to settle down and take up his responsibilities.
Freddie’s heart felt lighter for the first time in a long time. “We would have sent you word that we were here, if we’d known where we could reach you.”
His eyes were bloodshot and unable to focus. He squinted at her for a long moment. “Not a place for…a lady,” he finally said.
It seemed as though putting words together coherently was a struggle. Was he that deep in his cups? Heavens, it was a miracle he’d arrived at Padmore Glen safely. He could have fallen from his horse or been accosted by a highwayman, or God only knew what else.
“Come inside.” Freddie reached for his hand to help him up the steps. “We can discuss it inside once you’ve had a bath and some clean clothes.”
“Lady Frederica,” Lord Preston said with a warning tone, but she paid him no heed.
Percy released the horse’s bridle, but then nearly dragged her down as he fell to his knees. Indeed, he might have done, if not for Lord Preston prying Percy’s hand free from hers and pulling her backward.
At just that moment, Mr. Goddard hurried through the front door and raced down the steps to help Percy to his feet, with Lord Upton Grey following close behind.
But then Freddie realized Goddard wasn’t exactly helping Percy to stand so much as he was restraining him. She started to move towards her brother, but Lord Preston held her back with a hand upon her elbow.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Upton Grey demanded.
“I have—I…I need.” Percy stammered for a few minutes, his eyes flashing about him wildly, never settling on anyone or anything until they met hers and latched on with more fear than she’d ever seen in them. “Freddie?” It came out as a plea.
Hot tears sprang to her eyes. Never in her life had she imagined she’d see her brother in such a state. Lord Preston’s grip on her elbow grew firmer, more secure.
“It is freezing,” Lord Upton Grey said. His steely gaze was fixed firmly upon Percy, never wavering. “You are filthy, and while your mother and sisters are invited guests, you are not, Stalbridge. I’ll allow you inside to get warm and clean, and when you’ve become more decent I’ll allow you to speak with Lady Frederica, but you will not be staying.”
“Just need—I need Freddie.”
After a nod from Lord Upton Grey, Mr. Goddard and a footman half carried Percy inside. They left Freddie and Lord Preston alone, save the maid, outside by the steps.
Freddie started to go up the steps, but Lord Preston still did not release her arm.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
She didn’t particularly care for the situation either, but she was fairly certain her distaste was for an entirely different reason. It was difficult to see her brother in such a state.
Lord Preston came around to stand in front of her, and then had the audacity to chuck her under the chin. “I’ll allow him to talk to you, but I want to be present, too.”
“You’ll allow him to talk to me, will you? How terribly kind of you, my lord.” Freddie made to skirt around him, but he gently took her by the wrist and stopped her again.
“I don’t think you should be alone with him. I know he’s your brother, but—”
“But nothing.” She tugged against him, to no avail. “I don’t need you or anyone else to protect me from my brother. He may not have the most savory of reputations, but he will not harm me.” Not physically, at least. All the harm Percy has caused has been on another plane. Not that Freddie had any intention of saying anything of the sort to Lord Preston or anyone else. It was a family matter. “Now kindly unhand me.”
When he finally released her, Freddie stalked up the stairs and into the main house. After her walk, she still hadn’t managed to get away from Lord Preston, and now she was more confused than ever before.
After she had talked to Percy, she might very well have to suffer the megrim she’d been falsely claiming for the better part of a week.
“You’ve done what?”
From one of the leather armchairs in Lord Upton Grey’s study, where he’d granted her a private audience with Percy once he’d bathed and become at least somewhat more sober, Freddie stared aghast at her brother. He stood by the hearth, even his defeated posture reflecting the broken man he’d become. Percy Bexley-Smythe, Marquess of Stalbridge, was virtually unrecognizable as the carefree and charming brother she’d known for the whole of her life.
It was gradually growing clearer to her that the redness in his eyes and his state of distraction weren’t due solely to inebriation, but also—and perhaps even primarily—due to panic.
“I didn’t know what else to do!” He dragged a shaking hand through his overlong hair, nearly ripping some of it free. “He wanted Edie. She’s only sixteen, for God’s sake. I couldn’t…”
The words stopped coming, and all he could do was shake his head dumbly at her.
“No, you couldn’t let him have Edie,” Freddie agreed. But Bexley Court? Their home. It was the only thing she thought she had left.
Where would she and Mama and Edie go? The Upton Greys had been more than gracious in inviting them to come to Padmore Glen for the Christmas holiday, but she couldn’t imagine they would be welcome for any longer than that.
“Just how much do you owe this Mr. Vernon?”
Her stomach clenched as the doors opened right as she asked her question. A maid came in carrying a tea service, but it was Lord Preston who Freddie’s eyes fell upon as he paced just outside the doorway. His gaze locked onto hers, piercing through her.
Bother and blast, she didn’t want him to know anything about anything. Yet now he knew money was involved, and he knew a name.
Once the maid scurried out again and the door closed behind her, Percy crossed over and sat down beside her. With an unsteady hand, he poured himself a cup of tea, nearly spilling it before Freddie took over the task for him.
“I don’t even know,” he said after he’d taken a few sips. When he looked up at her, it was with tears filling his eyes. Freddie couldn’t think of the last time she’d seen her brother cry. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old, still a lad in short pants. “Easily more than Bexley Court is worth.”
All Freddie could do was sit back in her chair and try to remember how to breathe.
“How could…how could you do this, Percy?”
Instead of answering, he just sat there looking wretched. She hadn’t really expected that he would answer. Even if he did, there was no response he could give that would change anything.
Almost instantly, her mind turned to calculating how much money she would need to be able to support herself, Mama, and Edie. She would have to find some sort of home they could pay for. The remaining servants would all have to find new employment, other than possibly one maid—paying even one maid’s wages would quickly become an extravagance. Thank heavens Papa had set up a trust for Mama and for each of the girls’ dowries. But now, at least Freddie’s dowry would have to be used for expenses.
“You have to help me,” he said, interrupting her calculations. “I don’t know how to tell Mama. I can’t…”
There were a great many things he couldn’t do, but that was beside the point.
Freddie nodded. “I need time to think, and you need rest. I’m sure Lord Upton Grey will allow you to stay for at least the night. We can talk about it more in the morning.”
By then, she would have to have a plan. There was simply no alternative.
The very thought of Stalbridge spending the night—even if it was only the night and nothing more—at Padmore Glen set Preston’s teeth on edge. Whatever doubts he may have had about Lad
y Frederica were compounded into an outright dislike and distrust of her brother.
His distrust was only compounded by the fact that the reason Stalbridge was here in the first place had something to do with a debt.
Would she tell her brother about the library upstairs and all the treasures found within? Preston had gotten to know her fairly well over the last week, or so he thought, but there was still a niggling doubt ringing through his mind over that question.
For the remainder of the evening, Preston kept watch not only over Lady Frederica, but also over her derelict brother whom Upton Grey had—unwisely, in Preston’s opinion—allowed to stay until he was sober enough to ride elsewhere.
Such a great sense of disquietude had taken over him that tonight, he felt it imperative to stand guard outside the library. Once everyone had dispersed and gone up to seek their beds, he made his way there, only to find Goddard already acting as a sentinel just where he intended to be.
He was surprised, but not thoroughly shocked. They all knew of Stalbridge’s character, so it would be foolish to trust him very far.
“My lord,” Goddard said quietly, holding a candlestick aloft so they could better see one another. Then he gave a grim smile. “It seems we are of the same accord.”
“Did Upton Grey send you?” Preston asked.
“No, he seems to trust Stalbridge.” Goddard shook his head, as though he was trying to shake off thoughts. “I have more than enough reasons not to trust the man, thanks to my brother.”
His brother? That was a curious statement, but not one Preston felt inclined to explore at the moment. There were more pressing matters.
“Since there are two of us, why don’t I stay here to watch for him? Then you could stand in the corridor outside his chamber. It would raise suspicion if I were to be there instead of my chamber, should someone other than Stalbridge come into the hall.”
“Agreed. If someone comes upon me, I’ll say I heard a strange noise and was investigating, or something else of that nature.”
Once Goddard left him, Preston placed his candlestick in one of the wall sconces and took a seat in the armchair halfway between the stairs and the library. He hoped he could count upon it being a long and tedious night, free from any of the many things he dreaded.
He feared it might be one filled with a sort of excitement he’d rather not experience.
Sleep was a luxury Freddie could ill afford.
After her maid left her alone in her chamber, she lay down upon the bed, but her mind never stilled long enough for slumber to be even a remote possibility.
Percy was to leave in the morning after breakfast; even if Lord Upton Grey did not send him on his way, she doubted he would remain. If his debts were even half as numerous as she now believed them to be, there was no telling what he might do in order to obtain a bit of blunt. Remaining in the home of one of his peers—far away from any of his usual, seedy haunts—was undoubtedly low on his list of priorities.
One thing Freddie knew with absolute certainty was that she could no longer count on Percy for anything. He may yet sort himself out and become an upstanding member of society, but she couldn’t expect it to happen any time soon.
His concern was how to tell Mama about all the wrongs he’d done. Hers was how to protect her and Edie.
Freddie’s dowry was one thousand pounds. The widow’s trust in Mama’s name was another three thousand. With that, she would have to find a modest home for them, invest a small amount so they could have an annual living, and ensure they had enough to meet their day-to-day expenses.
No matter how she tried to make the numbers fall into line in her head, none of it would work.
It would be easier—not easy, but easier—if she used Edie’s dowry as well. But she couldn’t possibly do that. How would they ever secure a match for Edie with no dowry and the stigma of Percy’s foibles attached to them? No, using those funds was absolutely out of the question. They might not ever be able to give Edie a Season like she deserved for her come out, but Freddie refused to steal her sister’s only true hope of a happily ever after.
Perhaps she could find work as a governess or a paid companion. Then she could send her wages home to Mama and Edie. She might be able to earn enough for their expenses, which would mean more of the funds could be put into securing a home.
But what would happen if she couldn’t secure a position?
Every time Freddie thought she’d come up with a solution, another flaw in the plan burst forward and thwarted her. She pulled the pillow out from under her head and tossed it across the room in frustration. This was one of those rare moments in her life where Freddie wanted to give in to tears, but crying never solved anything.
The only thing that would help her now was more money.
And then a thought ran through her mind—one which had no business whatsoever being in her head at all. That library upstairs was filled—filled—with so many valuable items, things which Lord Upton Grey didn’t even know existed.
If he didn’t know about them, then he couldn’t possibly miss them—could he?
There might be more jewels or other similar items of value which she could easily conceal in her trunks until they were gone from Padmore Glen. But with each day that passed, Mr. Goddard and the other servants uncovered more of what had been stored so carelessly for so long. If she waited, she might miss her opportunity.
And then another thought returned, one which had finally ceased its refrain a few days ago: five thousand pounds.
Even if she didn’t find enough jewels to be worth five thousand pounds, any amount she could obtain would be more than she had.
She couldn’t truly become a thief, could she? But what other choice did she have?
Freddie sat suddenly, then raced to her chamber pot. She had never felt more ill in her life.
Footsteps.
Preston was sure he heard footsteps, soft ones, padding over the rug lining the long corridor and coming in his direction.
He’d been half asleep, exhausted from sitting in the dark, silent hallway all alone for so long. He’d even halfway convinced himself that both he and Goddard had been mad to think that Stalbridge would attempt to steal anything from Padmore Glen during his brief stay.
Until he heard the footsteps.
Had Goddard fallen asleep? Or, heaven forbid, had something more nefarious taken place in the gentlemen’s corridor in order for the marquess to slip past the butler without Preston hearing something? Surely he would have heard if there had been a commotion. Wouldn’t he? Or had he truly fallen asleep without realizing he’d done so?
He sat up straighter, stretching the aching muscles in his back and shoulders. Armchairs were not designed to be sat in for quite such extended periods. Or perhaps his body was not designed to sit in armchairs for great stretches. Either way, his neck felt as sore as he could ever remember it being, his buttocks were both numb and sore at once somehow, and he felt like someone had stabbed him in the back near his left shoulder blade.
The single candle he’d brought with him had burned past usefulness and flickered to a silent death an hour or more ago. The few windows opening up to the corridor allowed in only the merest hint of light from a cloud-shrouded moon. He was essentially invisible where he sat.
Stalbridge hadn’t brought a candle with him, and there wasn’t sufficient moonlight to illuminate him—but that also meant the cur couldn’t see Preston.
He stayed in his chair, as still as he could, listening to the other man’s progress. Stalbridge’s movements were surprisingly quiet for a man of his size, but Preston didn’t give that too much thought. The other man surely wanted to avoid making any noise, lest he wake someone below stairs.
Like a thief in the night…
Preston had to stifle a laugh as the thought crossed his mind. How very accurate the saying was proving to be.
Once he was certain Stalbridge had fully passed into the library, Preston inched out of his chair and crept towar
ds the open door. His boots were not nearly as quiet upon the carpet as Stalbridge had been. The other man must be wearing only stockings, or he might possibly be barefoot. Either way, he had an advantage over Preston in terms of remaining quiet.
When he passed over the threshold and fully into the library, however, Preston heard something which properly shocked him: a thump, followed by a very muffled, but very feminine curse.
Lady Frederica? And therefore not Stalbridge. He moved closer to the sounds, dimly aware that he was always moving closer to the hearth.
“So I was right all along,” he said—quietly, but more than loud enough for her to hear in the otherwise silent library.
She gasped. Before he could react, he heard iron scraping against stone. She struck him on the upper arm with the flat of something hard, and he shouted in surprise. It clattered to the floor and she darted away.
Preston reached down to pick it up. The iron felt cold and deadly in his grip. A bloody fire iron. She hit me with a damned fire iron. He ought to have trusted his instincts about her all along.
He laughed, but it was an entirely cold and mirthless sound.
A series of small thumps sounded, followed by a singular, much louder one, and she let out a pained whimper. “Lord Preston?”
The desolation in her tone chipped into his heart. Damnation, she was attempting to steal from his brother-in-law in order to aid her worthless rascal of a brother! There was no cause for him to feel sorry for having caught her before she could.
But she might have hurt herself.
It didn’t matter that she’d tried to hurt him, or that she was a thief, or anything else.
Preston had never been able to stand by with a woman hurt—not since what Rachel had been through in her first marriage.
“Where are you? Say something so I can find you in the dark.”
Thick as Thieves Page 7