“I am afraid what I have learned about his lordship goes beyond a tarnished reputation. Despite his title, he has collected a wealth of enemies, which is hardly surprising, considering the fact that he appears to have no redeeming virtues.”
Lady Letitia nodded. “Quite accurately described. But actually Lady Cassiopeia’s needs were not my primary consideration. I was thinking more about what your needs are.”
“Why should you worry about me, a veritable stranger?”
“If it has slipped your mind that without your intervention on several different occasions my grandson would be lying in an unmarked grave in America, I assure you that I, at least, will never forget the debt I owe you.”
“And yet you tried to bribe me into helping you?”
The old lady smiled, a very satisfied smile.
Richard groaned. “Why did Perry not inherit any of your deviousness?”
“Deviousness?” she asked, her expression now all innocence.
“You were never trying to coerce me, you were merely testing me.” He should feel some anger at having been manipulated so easily and so effectively, but all he could feel was admiration. It was not often someone bested him as neatly as she had done.
“I do not read minds, Mr. Hawke, although I delight in giving people that impression. I also do not accept any one else’s evaluation of a person I am interested in. And you, I must admit, are quite the most interesting person I have met in months. Which brings us back to the favor I was going to ask of you.” She paused and looked at him expectantly.
“If you are waiting for me to say, ‘whatever you wish,’ then you shall have a long wait. I never agree to something without knowing what I am agreeing to.”
“All I ask is that you satisfy an old lady’s curiosity.”
“If I am to forgo styling myself a gentleman of leisure,” he said with a laugh, “then by the same token you cannot be allowed to call yourself an ‘old lady.’”
“But I am old, and I am a lady, and those two things have restricted me more tightly than the iron shackles that once bound you.”
Richard caught his breath, and for a moment it seemed as if the world had tilted beneath him.
“There are marks on your wrists,” Lady Letitia said simply. “And I recognize them for what they are. Scars like that are only made when manacles are worn for an extended period of time.”
Looking down, he saw that she was correct. He must remember to have new shirts made with sleeves an inch longer.
“Perry gets his love of adventure from me,” she continued. “But unlike my grandson, all my life I have had my freedom curtailed, my activities limited to what a well-bred English female was allowed to do. I was married off at seventeen to a man I had been introduced to only once, and by the time he died, when I might have had the freedom to travel the world and seek the adventures I craved, I had four small sons to take care of. Even though over the years I have adjusted to my ‘captivity’ and have learned the exact length of my ‘chains,’ I have never learned to love my cage, and it would be a kindness indeed if you would tell me of your adventures in great detail, so that I might experience a little of the world beyond my bars, even if only vicariously.”
Looking at her sitting there, her back so straight, Richard’s admiration for her increased. How many years had she endured her “chains,” always maintaining an inner integrity, refusing to grovel? A lesser person would have gone mad, or battered herself to death against the bars of her cage. How could he refuse her such a simple request?
Apparently taking his silence for acquiescence, she said, “To start with, you can tell me where you were and what you were doing in the six years between the time your ship was lost and the time you appeared in New Orleans with the beginnings of your fortune.”
Of all the things she had said to him, this last remark cut the deepest. Everything else he was willing to talk about freely—all his other adventures traveling around the world he could relate to her in as thorough detail as she was willing to listen to.
But not those missing six years—not the years that had been stolen from him. He had never discussed that period of his life with anyone, not even with Tuke. By tacit agreement, they never mentioned their time as slaves. Even now, more than a dozen years after they had escaped from captivity, the memory was still too painful.
Did Lady Letitia know that she had brought him to his knees with that one remark? She was not obtuse or stupid—she must know what she was doing to him by her “simple request.” But looking into Lady Letitia’s eyes, he saw no triumph, no morbid curiosity, no pity—only great compassion and deep understanding.
“I may look old and frail,” she said softly, “but my shoulders are still strong enough to help bear the burdens of my friends.”
Slowly and without conscious decision, he began to speak. “Our ship was not lost in a storm—it was attacked and sunk by pirates.”
* * * *
“I would feel so much better if we had a man to escort us,” Ellen repeated for at least the twentieth time since their hired hack had joined the line of carriages waiting to disgorge their passengers, who were all bound for the opening ball of the Season, being held this year at Sefton House.
Privately, Cassie thought that nothing would make her feel better except, of course, somehow miraculously being transported back to Cornwall. After several weeks of purchasing extensive wardrobes—always on credit, to be sure—interspersed by occasional morning visits to other ladies who were also deeply engrossed in preparations for the coming Season, the moment had finally arrived that she had been dreading ever since her brother had informed her he planned to support his hedonistic life-style by selling her.
Tonight she would be introduced to dozens of men, and the pre-sale inspection would begin. She felt positively ill at the thought of all the eyes that would be trained on her. “I think I am going to be sick,” she said.
Ellen patted her hand. “I felt the same way before my first London ball. But you need have no worry that you will be a wallflower. Believe me, the men will flock around you like bees around a honey pot.”
Before Cassie could explain that she would much prefer to sit out all the dances, the door to their carriage was opened.
After more than an hour of inching their way forward, they had arrived at their destination.
Half an hour later, when they were only halfway up the stairs, Cassie realized she had been overly optimistic. At the rate they were progressing, it would almost appear that by the time they reached the ballroom, the evening’s festivities would already be drawing to a close. Only one good thing had come of the long delay—her anxiety had gradually been replaced by boredom.
But they did, finally, arrive at the door of the ballroom, where they were announced with great ceremony. Such was the noise in the room, however, that Cassie doubted anyone standing more than five feet away could have heard their names.
Someone had noticed their arrival, however. No sooner had they passed through the receiving line than Ellen clutched her arm and murmured, “Oh, how fortunate! Lady Letitia is signaling us to join her. Did I not tell you I have some influence with her?”
Slowly, stopping frequently to acknowledge the greetings of old friends, all of whom expressed their delight at seeing her in London once again, Ellen began working her way around the edge of the room toward the place where Lady Letitia was sitting in solitary splendor. They were halfway to their goal before Cassie realized with horror that Lady Letitia was not actually alone, but was instead a member of a small party. Indeed, why should she have come to such an event if not with an ulterior purpose? Her “ulterior purpose” in this case was apparently her grandniece, Cecily Ingleby, who although boring, was not in the least bit threatening.
The danger, however, lay in the other members of the party. Lord Westhrop was now handing his grandmother a glass of liquid refreshment, and beside him—loomed was the only word that came to Cassie’s mind—the ubiquitous Mr. Hawke.
/> Catching her step-mother’s arm, Cassie pulled her behind the nearest pillar and hissed in her ear, “Wait! I do not wish to join Lady Letitia’s party.”
“Not join her? Are you insane? To disregard her summons would be tantamount to social ruin,” Ellen replied, starting to pull her arm away.
“But only see who is with her—the very men who you yourself said can destroy our reputation.”
After a quick glance around the pillar, Ellen smiled reassuringly. “We have nothing to worry about, my dear. If those men were going to tell scurrilous tales about us, the gossip would already have spread throughout the ton. Since it has not, we may assume they are men of honor, whose word can be relied upon.”
Cassie was not reassured in the slightest. “I am not worried about gossip,” Cassie said, hanging on more tightly to her step-mother’s arm. “But Mr. Hawke frightens me.”
“Really, Cassie, you surprise me. I had not expected you to be so missish.”
“It is not missishness. The way he looks at me, he makes me feel—” She broke off, not able to reveal to Ellen the turmoil she felt every time she met Mr. Hawke’s eyes.
“Have you no common sense at all? Have I taught you nothing? Mr. Hawke is said to be as rich as Croesus, and he can do nothing but add to your consequence if it is seen that you have attracted his interest.”
“But I fear his interest in me is serious, and I do not at all wish to marry him.”
“Marry? Pray, are you not putting the cart before the horse? The man has not even asked you to dance with him, and already you have him on his knees? I had not thought you so conceited. Besides, no one is going to force you to marry where your heart is not given.”
“Geoffrey intends to choose my husband for me,” Cassie said baldly.
For a moment even Ellen’s optimism seemed dented, but then she rallied. “Well, your brother is the head of the family, after all, and as such he has the right to approve or disapprove of your suitors.”
“But he has already told me to my face that I shall be allowed no say in the matter,” Cassie said, desperately wishing that somehow for once her step-mother would show a little backbone. “It is intolerable! I cannot allow him to ruin my entire life.”
“Well, after all, arranged marriages are not so uncommon. Why, my own father picked the man I was to marry. And I am sure he chose wisely since it is quite ... quite pleasant to be a countess.” Ellen’s voice wobbled a bit at the end, and her smile became almost a grimace.
“Oh, my dear,” Cassie said, instantly sorry she had put so much pressure on her step-mother, who was indeed a frail reed.
But Ellen was equally unable to withstand pity. At the first sign of sympathy, she affixed her social smile firmly in place. “It is not as though that man is a duke or an earl—why, he is just plain Mr. Hawke, without even a sir to add consequence to his name. I am sure you can attract numerous suitors who are vastly superior to him. Since you are the daughter of an earl, I cannot believe even Geoffrey would force you to marry a man with no title, no matter how rich he might be. So pray let go of my arm and come along, do, before Lady Letitia decides we have forgotten all about her.”
Releasing her hold on Ellen’s arm, Cassie hesitated only a few seconds before following her step-mother. It will not be so bad, she repeated over and over to herself. I shall smile at Mr. Hawke and dance with him, but I need not be afraid of him, because Geoffrey will never allow me to throw myself away on a nobody, even if he is a rich nobody. Surely I will have other suitors whom Geoffrey will find more suitable.
Indeed, within minutes after they joined Lady Letitia, the men began flocking around, seeking an introduction to her, and by the time she had danced two country dances, her card was filled for all but the waltzes, which she could not dance until after she had been given permission to waltz at Almack’s. It was one of the sillier rules, but in this case she was quite thankful for the restriction since it meant Mr. Hawke must limit himself to signing his name beside two of the country dances.
What she had not anticipated was that he would be seated beside her for all the waltzes. She wished desperately that he would show some attention to another young lady, but he did not budge from his chair, except to rise courteously to his feet whenever her partner returned her to her chaperone.
Halfway through the evening, she realized that in some subtle way, he was staking a claim on her—making it appear that the other men were returning her to him, rather than to Ellen.
With added dismay, she noticed what had escaped her attention before—that the first dance he had put his name beside was the supper dance, and the second one was the last dance of the evening. How could she have allowed him to claim her for two such significant dances?
How could she have prevented him, was more to the point, she thought, reluctantly accepting his arm and allowing him to lead her down to supper. He was a master of small talk, and as tongue-tied as she was every time she was near him, she knew she must appear to be shy in comparison. But was it shyness that caused a partridge to flee before a hawk?
She had a moment’s reprieve when he seated her at a small table and went to fill plates for both of them. Moments later, Ellen took one of the other three chairs.
“Is he not handsome? Oh, my dear, I could not credit it. He swears he has never forgotten me, and now he is a widower and quite free to marry again, as am I.”
Puzzled, Cassie looked at her step-mother. “Who are you talking about?”
“Why, Mr. Arthur Dillingham, of course. I introduced him to you not an hour ago. Did you not remark how handsome he is? And still quite smitten with me. I remember once he wrote a poem about me, and it was quite well done—everything rhymed beautifully.”
Vaguely Cassie remembered being introduced to a tall man with a rather florid complexion, who was already inclining toward fat. Apparently this was a former beau of Ellen’s, from the days before her marriage to Cassie’s father.
When their two escorts joined them, it was quite obvious that Mr. Dillingham was indeed smitten with Ellen’s charms, as he alternated bites of food with fulsome compliments.
Cassie could only be grateful that Mr. Hawke was not given to uttering such flowery phrases.
“I have been wanting to ask you for advice,” he said to her instead. “As payment for a debt, I have recently come into possession of a tin mine in Cornwall. Unfortunately, I am as yet at the mercy of my manager. Knowing nothing about mining, I must accept blindly anything he tells me, which makes me rather nervous. I have learned over the years that the more one knows, the less likely one is to be cheated.”
Richard had intended it merely as an opening conversational gambit, but Lady Cassiopeia looked positively stricken. “You are the owner of a mine?”
“Yes,” he repeated, wondering at her distress. “It appears to be a good investment, although I have not yet had an opportunity to inspect it as thoroughly as I might wish. The manager, who has been handling everything for the previous owner, has assured me that he is capable of running things without any attention from me, but—”
“There is nothing more disastrous than an owner who takes no interest in the running of his mine,” Lady Cassiopeia said firmly. “All of the worst abuses occur in such cases.”
“Abuses? My manager has said nothing about abuses, only about ways to increase profits.”
It was as if he had struck flint against steel—before his eyes she was transformed from shy young lady into fiery reformer.
“Of course he says that, but what he will never tell you is that the easiest way to increase profits is to pay the men such a pittance that they cannot support their families.” She had begun in a low, indignant voice, but with each word she uttered, the volume rose. “Then their wives are forced to work in the mines also, except that even then there is not enough money to support the family, so soon the children are also sent to work in the mines. Babies of four and five years are undoubtedly crawling on their hands and knees in your mine, Mr. Hawke, pu
lling carts of ore through low tunnels, because children are found to be cheaper than ponies and also more expendable, and therefore profits go up!”
Before she had finished, her step-mother was frantically trying to shush her, finally in desperation clapping her hand firmly over Lady Cassiopeia’s mouth.
“Really, Cassie,” the older woman hissed, her eyes darting around the room to see who was watching, “you are making us the center of attention. You must not talk about such subjects in polite company! Why, people will think you are a Methodist!”
Richard could not contradict Lady Blackstone, who was right about the notice they were attracting, nor yet could he abandon such a promising topic of conversation. Thinking fast, he said quietly, “I would learn more about this subject, but indeed, your step-mother is correct. This is not the ideal place to talk of tin mines. May I take you for a drive tomorrow afternoon, say at three, so that we can continue this discussion?”
Lady Cassiopeia was clearly torn between the desire to avoid him and the desire to reform him. In the end, her concern for the tin miners won out, and she nodded her agreement.
For the rest of the supper, he allowed Mr. Dillingham and Lady Blackstone to carry the weight of the conversation, only now and then tossing in a platitude where one was required.
In general, he was not dissatisfied with the evening’s work. He had an assignation with the woman of his choice ... and he also had the names of several men who had been particular in their attentions to her. Tomorrow Tuke could start investigating and see which of them constituted a serious threat.
* * *
Chapter 7
The red-headed maid who opened the kitchen door regarded him with a baleful eye. Not that Digory could blame her. He had done his best this morning to look as disreputable as possible. The part of his face not hidden beneath his low-pulled cap was adequately covered by a four-day’s growth of beard, and his clothes looked as if he had been wearing them night and day for a month.
He had not, of course. It had taken great artistic skill to achieve the level of grime and stains that his jacket and trousers were now displaying. But as Cassie had pointed out to him, all cleaned up he bore a remarkable resemblance to the late Lord Blackstone, and Digory’s life would become truly complicated if anyone in London noticed the similarity of features.
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