After donning his boots on the off chance that Elsworth might make a run for it and he’d be forced to give chase, he left the room. He spared one more glance at his wife’s sleeping form before closing the door gently behind him so as not to wake her. He headed down the stairs and to the small billiard room off the library. It had always been Elsworth’s preferred space though he had no skill for the game. It was the seclusion of the space that had always appealed to him, Val thought. Even when they’d been younger, long before the bitterness and begrudging behavior had developed between them, Elsworth had often preferred his own company and the questionable pleasure of solitude.
As he entered the room, his cousin looked up from his seat before the window. Immediately, Elsworth crumpled the note he held in his hand and tried to hide it. A guilty flush crept over the man’s face and it was quite apparent that whatever had been in his note, he’d not wanted anyone to see.
“Bad news?” Val asked.
“Not at all. Insignificant,” Elsworth answered, but his words and his expression were incongruous. “I see you’ve managed to tear yourself away from the considerable charms of your new bride. She might be common, but she is rather pretty.”
“Damned by such faint praise. What bothers you so much about her, Cousin? That she is secure enough in herself that she doesn’t require your approval or that our grandmother clearly sees a kind of strength and intelligence in her that has earned the dragon’s respect?” Val asked.
“Do you really think that? Our grandmother holds her in no particular esteem,” Elsworth said with a dismissive laugh. “You underestimate the old woman still. She understood that you, with your rebellion and your need to court scandal, would only ever marry a woman who was unsuitable. She simply placed the least objectionable version of that before you!”
There was some element of truth to that, but it was an oversimplification. As in so many situations, his cousin was incapable of seeing beyond his own very black and white vision of the world. But addressing that would only undermine his purpose in speaking to his cousin. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, Elsworth.”
“We can do nothing else. You should go back to her and begin trying to produce the requisite heir. It would certainly be a better use of your time,” Elsworth said dismissively.
“I know about Marchebanks,” Val said abruptly, not even acknowledging Elsworth’s crass suggestions. “I know about the offer you had to invest in the munitions shipments… what I don’t know, Elsworth, is whether or not you realized those munitions would never reach British troops. Did you have any idea?”
Elsworth rose then, his temper flaring. “Contrary to what you think, Valentine, I am not a fool. The return would have seen me set up for life!”
“The only return you’ll get from this is the hangman’s noose!” Val shouted back at him. “How, Elsworth? How can you betray your own country?”
“It’s easy enough… I detest England. I detest this miserable system of class where I must bow and scrape at your feet for even the smallest bit of coin! I should have been the viscount. I should have the promise of a dukedom lying ahead of me! Heaven knows I’m more suited to it than you with your common whore of a wife!”
Val didn’t take the bait. He would not allow Elsworth to stoke his temper, even though he longed to slap the whelp for uttering such an insult. “Tell me where the ambush is to take place, Elsworth! If you do, I might be able to keep your name out of it, to make it appear as if you were duped by these individuals rather than being a knowing participant!”
“Why would you?” Elsworth challenged.
“Because it will kill our grandmother… and while you may detest me, I know you care for her,” Val offered.
“Do you? You’re wrong. You think I don’t know how she detests me? That even after all you’ve done, that you are still her favorite? No, Cousin. I care not a whit for anyone in this family,” Elsworth denied hotly.
“Then do it to save yourself,” Val urged. He didn’t believe Elsworth. He knew the man was simply speaking from wounded pride and not a sincere lack of feeling. He could see it in his cousin’s gaze. “If you tell me… if you give me what I need to stop it, I might be able to keep you from swinging at the end of a bloody rope!”
Elsworth looked at him for the longest moment. “It’s too late for that.”
“It’s not. It is not! Tell me, damn you!” Val insisted. “Let me help you for once in your blasted life!”
“Why?”
Val shook his head. “Because you are family… because once upon a time we did not hate one another. Do you not recall our childhood? We laughed and played together. We did not have this viciousness between us then. For the sake of the boys we once were, let me help you.”
His cousin looked away, a muscle working in his jaw and his eyes glistening curiously. After a moment, he turned back to Val. “The ship sails in two days, but it will never make it to India. They’ll be set upon near the Channel Islands, Lihou to be specific, and the lot of the cargo stolen,” Elsworth said.
“Who? Who are they going to?”
“There are a few stalwarts in France yet who think that they can pick up where Bonaparte left off. They’re wrong. They can’t. We both know it. Selling them guns is like selling coal to the devil—useless. You must see that!”
“I see that you could be starting another war… and we’ve lost too much already. Do you not understand how precarious our position is? The cost of war is great to our nation, but profitable to many. Who are the owners of these munitions factories? Do you even know? Who in parliament is awarding contracts to them? I know that Marchebanks likely has his hand in it!”
Elsworth turned away. “You see plots where plots do not exist, Cousin. These French fools are naught but dreamers… like the Jacobites who followed Prince Charlie. They have no leader, they have no one to rally behind. So their efforts will fail and putting guns in their hands will make no matter in the end.”
“Says the man who has never been to the front lines and watched the blood of his countrymen being spilled,” Val snapped. “It isn’t just the French! It’s the poorly-supplied soldiers in India who are dying because they haven’t the necessary tools to battle our enemies there!”
“Spare me the dramatics, Cousin. Just because you’re haunted by your experiences on the Continent doesn’t mean we’re on the verge of another war! And those primitive villagers in India are hardly a real threat! You’re a fool to think otherwise!”
Elsworth would never see the truth, because it was completely removed from his sheltered existence. Trying a different tactic, Val admitted, “I am haunted by it. But I’m not a fool, Elsworth. You think I play cards because I enjoy it, because I long to feel the thrill of winning… but you’re wrong. I play because it’s at those tables that deals such as the one you’ve made with Marchebanks are brokered. I know what you agreed to, and I know you haven’t a clue what sort of catastrophe you are about to bring raining down on you. If you allow me, I can help you. There is a way through it, Cousin.”
Elsworth looked away then, his slightly weak chin trembling for a moment before he managed to clench his features tightly and rein in that telltale sign of emotion. “I betray these men, I die. I betray my country, I still die. There is no way through it. And you, Cousin, may go to the devil!”
Elsworth rose then and strode from the room. A moment later, Val heard the front door slam and knew that his cousin was gone. Not just from the house, though. Any hint of the boy Elsworth had once been was gone, as well. All that remained was a bitter, jealous shell of a man. Resentment had ruined him. Envy, the insidious poison of a covetous heart, would see their family ripped asunder in a way they could not recover from. All that was left was to tell the powers that be and allow them to take him into custody with Marchebanks. Perhaps then one of them would talk and spill the remainder of the information needed to prevent disaster.
Chapter Twenty
Hours later, wearing a coat and hat
hastily borrowed from one of the footmen, Val huddled outside a crumbling warehouse near the docks. With the hat pulled low, his face was concealed from any passersby. There was enough mud and muck splashed on his boots to hide their quality and he was rendered all but invisible. To any passerby, he appeared just another drunk in the rookery, lounging against the side of a building and tippling from a bottle of cheap gin. He’d allowed Elsworth to get a head start, but only by a few minutes. He’d followed his cousin from the shadows, staying on him until he’d reached his destination. The very same warehouse Val now huddled outside of.
It was a dangerous place. The warehouse was situated on the docks and getting there through the rookeries, he’d risked life, limb and purse. Somehow, he’d made it through without being robbed or killed just for the buttons on his waistcoat. Sadly, men had been killed for less. That Elsworth could walk through those neighborhoods unaccosted meant that he was a familiar sight there. Or a protected one. Was there some other shady underworld figure who wielded power comparable to the Hound? Or was the Hound himself not to be trusted?
Val dismissed that notion almost instantly. The Hound of Whitehall was guilty of many things, including a bit of smuggling and thumbing his nose at the Crown. But he’d proven time and time again that he supported the soldiers. Many nefarious plots and schemes that would have compromised national security had come to their attention through him. He’d gone so far as to summon Val to his tables when he knew key players in such intrigues would be present.
Cursing under his breath, Val waited. The temperatures were dropping. It was growing colder by the minute. But he couldn’t leave until he had something more to work with. He might not be close enough to hear what was being said inside, but he was near enough that he could watch the comings and goings. He’d seen Marchebanks enter. To pass the time and to blend more with his surroundings while convincingly passing for just a random drunkard, he stood with his arms folded over his chest, softly whistling a rather dirty tune he’d picked up from a gaming hell years before.
As another carriage rolled up, he pulled his hat lower, making certain his face was concealed, and watched the vehicle closely. The door opened and, to his dismay, it wasn’t a man who climbed out but a woman. Her face was concealed within the hood of a velvet cloak, but the sweep of her scarlet skirts over the filthy street was oddly familiar to him. Where had he seen her? She moved with an uncommon grace that tugged at his memory. He’d seen her before, whether at one of the hells or in a Mayfair ballroom, he couldn’t say. Focusing his attention on the man accompanying her, Val noted that he, too, kept his face hidden behind a heavy cloak, but he was massive. The man stood a head and a half taller than the woman did with broad shoulders and a rough build that hinted at manual labor or perhaps the streets.
As they vanished into the warehouse, Val left his post and slipped down the alley. Carefully, he stacked crates until he could reach a small ledge that ran along the outside of the building. Praying it would support his weight, he reached for it and pulled, testing its sturdiness. When it didn’t simply snap off in his hand, he pulled himself up and managed to perch atop it. Inching to his right, toward a window, he peered into the building. It was dimly lit and, through the grime, he could just make out the trio of players and the lady’s massive guard standing in the center of the large and utterly empty space.
She had not lowered her hood, which meant she was either very cautious about being seen or that even her compatriots didn’t know her identity. Val was leaning toward the latter. He shifted slightly, trying to get a better view. The ledge creaked ominously under him and all those inside turned in the direction of the sound. With the darkness outside and the light in, not to mention the filth of the window, he didn’t worry that they’d seen him. But he did worry they might send the behemoth to investigate. Dropping back down onto the boxes, he left quickly, exiting the alley from the other end and emerging into a dirty street pocked with ruts and dotted with piles of excrement whose origins were best left unidentified. He shuffled away, singing softly under his breath and altering his gait as to appear old and stooped. A few minutes later, the behemoth moved past him, scanning the street ahead. Val just kept up his pretense, head down, swaying from side to side, appearing to be a drunken sot for all the world.
Stumbling toward one of the many prostitutes working that stretch of road, he pressed a coin to her hand. “Be a love and try to distract that big fellow, would you?”
“Lud, I don’t want a brute like that,” she said in shockingly genteel tones.
“I don’t wish for you to actually entertain him,” Val said, shocked to find the prostitute in question sounded more like a society matron. “I just need to slip past him.”
“Before he realizes you’re a young lord and not a drunkard from the streets?” she asked.
“Just so,” he said.
She glanced down at the coin. “It’ll take more than one of these. I’ll not entangle myself in your intrigues for so little.”
Val grinned. “Be at the corner of Jermyn Street and Duke Street tomorrow morning at ten. You’ll get more than a coin. You’ll get a job.”
An expression of distrust crossed her face. “What sort of employment might that be, my lord? Whatever you think of my current circumstances, I assure you that you have thoroughly misread the situation.”
Perhaps he had, Val thought. She was dressed in a manner that was far more circumspect than any woman of the streets he’d ever seen. But that raised other questions. Why was she out there? Was she involved in something nefarious? Was it perhaps the same nefarious dealings that had brought him out into the rookery at night? “Being a companion… my grandmother needs one,” he offered.
“Why doesn’t she have one already?”
“Because I married the last one,” he answered. “And I’d like to return to my lovely new bride without that brute running me through.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the woman gave a curt nod. She slipped the coin into a hidden pocket in her skirt and then sauntered past him toward the larger man. In a rougher and more cockney tone, she said, “My, but you’re a big one. Looking for a tumble, are you, ’ansome?”
“No,” the man replied.
Val slipped into another alley and made his way to the next street over. Deeper and deeper into the rookeries he went until, over the tops of the buildings, he could finally see the spires of Whitehall in the distance. He let them guide him home.
*
Lilly was having dinner with the dowager duchess. Neither Elsworth nor Val had shown their faces since the afternoon. It was worrisome to say the least. Where one was, the other had likely followed and that could only lead to danger.
“I have never known more inconsiderate men in my life, Lillian,” the dowager duchess said. “Except perhaps for Valentine’s father… and my late husband. All the Somers men are bad. It’s in their blood.”
“Val never speaks of his father,” Lilly said, hoping to direct the conversation.
“I should say not,” the dowager duchess replied. “He hardly knows him. I daresay that is true for all of us. Richard, my son, decided to live a life of adventure!” This was uttered with the gravest of contempt, as if it were a deeply personal affront to her and all that she valued. But then again, perhaps it was. “He fancies himself some sort of scholar! Living in huts and tents and cavorting with natives like some sort of buffoon!”
“Well, that is fascinating! Where has he traveled to?” Lilly asked. It wasn’t fascinating, not at all. But if it kept the woman from speculating on what Val and Elsworth might be doing and why they might both be absent at the same time, it was well worth it.
“Oh, it is not! It’s rude and inconsiderate. As for where he’s gone, I honestly couldn’t say. It’s not here or anywhere civilized and that’s all that matters!”
“I’m certain there is a great deal to be learned from other cultures,” Lilly offered placatingly.
“Certainly, there is! But did he have
to be the one to learn it? No. Of course not! It was one thing for you to have a position, my dear, when you had no one else to see to your future and your needs. But Richard is a duke! He has responsibilities. He should be seeing to his estates and leaving it to someone else to unearth dusty relics from ancient civilizations. Honestly, I find it difficult to picture him digging in the dirt. He’s likely paid someone to do so and is overseeing them. If he can do that in India or China, or wherever it is he’s gallivanted off to this time, he can do it in Somerset and see to planting some wheat or other crops on our estates.”
While Lilly would never dream of saying so, the dowager duchess was really terribly practical. Almost to the point of appearing bourgeois. It would not endear her to anyone for her to say so. “It is very frustrating to deal with impractical people,” Lilly commiserated mildly.
“It is!” the dowager duchess agreed and sipped her wine. “It is my hope, my dear, that your experience and your own practical nature will have a stabilizing influence on Valentine.”
Her practical nature was debatable. Mercenary perhaps, with her love of jewels and rich fabrics. Lilly’s gaze dropped to the heavy ring on her left hand. She was still adjusting to the weight of it. The band was etched with a design of intertwining vines and was topped with a large emerald flanked by pearls and diamonds. It was beautiful but the significance of the ring and what it represented in terms of her status was far more staggering than its monetary value.
“Do you have regrets, my dear?”
Lilly looked up to see the dowager duchess eyeing her with concern. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”
The older woman looked away. “I did rather manage the both of you into this debacle. There is something I have to confess…”
“And what is that?” Lilly asked, wondering if she truly wanted the answer.
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