‘Me too.’ His gaze lingered hungrily on her lips.
***
‘Can you believe what that grandson of mine’s been up to?’ demanded Lady Faye as Ellen entered the kitchen a few moments later, bonnet safely in hand and Calum’s words spinning around her head.
‘Look at this!’ Lady Faye pushed a cake tin into her free hand. It was the one that housed the whisky infused fruit cake. Only now it was wrapped in a chain and padlocked shut.
Suddenly the Keep Out! sign Calum had been wearing made sense. She was absolutely not impressed by his creativity. Well, maybe a tiny, eensy bit. ‘Surely we can find the key.’ She glanced around the kitchen. How difficult could it be to find a key hidden by a man deep in his cups?
‘We’ve looked,’ huffed the dowager, waving a hand towards the small gathering of servants standing behind her. ‘It’s not in the kitchen. If I know my grandson at all, he’s probably hidden it somewhere quite devious.’ With a glint in her eye, Lady Faye rushed into the passage. ‘We’ll search the whole house. Forces, divide and conquer! Posthaste!’ She raised her fist into the air like a captain commanding a warship into battle.
Ellen caught Pamela’s eye, and the lady’s maid winked before taking hold of Adelynn’s hand. Boldly, both women set forth up the stairs on the quest for the hidden key, and Chakrabarti marched gallantly into the dining room.
‘To me,’ called Lady Faye, and Ellen followed her into the front room.
The drawing room was a little worse for wear after the duke’s drunken sulk last night. There were no fewer than three crystal glasses scattered around the room, while the dartboard on the back of the door was lopsided and a suspicious scattering of small holes marked the architraves.
In the end they searched for half an hour to no avail.
The dowager flopped onto the settee. ‘Imagine, locking up a cake! Preposterous!’
‘Why don’t we do something else, to keep your mind off the cake?’
‘Like what?’ Lady Faye sat up a little straighter, watching Ellen in anticipation.
‘Well…’ She racked her brain for an activity appropriate for a gentlelady and her companion. The dowager had already admitted to not enjoying London society and since the fireworks hadn’t mentioned them leaving the house for another similar activity. After all, she’d clearly come to London to see her family, not to partake in London entertainment. ‘How about I read to you? Lord Woodhal has a whole library just down the hall.’
‘Goodness, no. Hammond only collected boring books on agriculture and distilleries and…and bedbugs.’
‘Bedbugs?’
‘I’m sure I once saw a book about bedbugs.’ Lady Faye leaned against the back of the chaise longue. ‘I don’t like bedbugs.’
‘There must be a lending library or a bookshop somewhere in this great city of London Town. Why don’t I find us something a little more exciting to read?’
‘Oh, an excellent idea.’ The dowager’s smile creased the corners of her eyes. ‘Take Chakrabarti with you. And make sure it’s an absolutely shocking novel. Something to make us blush!’
Verity
Verity tugged the collar of her travelling cloak tighter around her throat and glanced over her shoulder for what seemed like the hundredth time to check she wasn’t being followed. Satisfied, she veered right, down a narrow country lane lined high with hedgerows.
It seemed unbelievable in the sunshine of a bright, crisp day that she was on a mission of stealth. Then again, she reminded herself, not all monsters hid in the shadows.
Another two miles and the cottage was in sight. Framed by two spring kissed sycamore trees, the small two-room cottage blended seamlessly into the countryside.
Little Gwen was playing in the kitchen garden, industriously poking something with a stick. She watched Verity warily. She looked so much like her mother. Verity waved her welcome, but Gwen only stared.
Maggie appeared in doorway. The corners of her mouth naturally turned down, giving her a permanently thoughtful expression. She raised a hand in greeting—they’d known each other long enough to have dispensed with more formal ways.
‘Is everything well?’ Maggie hurried closer. ‘Have you heard from Ellen?’ Her concern was marked in the pitch of her voice. She looked older than when Verity had last seen her, as though the weight of the world lay heavy on her slim shoulders. Verity wished she bore happier tidings.
‘Everything’s well with Ellen, At least, I haven’t heard otherwise.’ She cast a glance towards the girl.
Understanding, Maggie led Verity a little ways from the child.
‘She still doesn’t speak?’
‘I’ve never heard a single word pass her lips in six years. Ellen tells me she can talk, but…’ Maggie shrugged.
‘Geoffrey should be locked away for what he’s done to those two girls.’ Verity fisted her hands. She knew Geoffrey had only hit Gwen once. Ellen had taken the brunt of his anger to protect the child. ‘Speaking of Geoffrey—’ She relayed the story of Geoffrey’s threat. ‘I know we hoped that you and Gwen would be safe here but I think we underestimated just how determined he’d be,’ Verity finished. ‘Now he actually has some coin, I don’t think there’s anything stopping him from finding this cottage.’
‘He’s never been here before.’
‘But others in Evendale have.’ Why had she ever thought hiding Gwen with Maggie’s sister-in-law would be good enough? Because we were desperate. Desperate to get Ellen and Gwen away from Geoffrey as fast as possible.
Maggie touched her arm reassuringly. Her fingers were cold but warmth curled around Verity’s arm. Their eyes were almost level. Verity liked not having to look down to meet Maggie’s gaze, as she did with so many other people. Maggie was as tall as she was, an inch or two taller even, with long skinny arms. Some might call her lanky or ungainly but those words did nothing to recognise her tempered personality or her nurturing disposition.
She’d helped her friends escape an abusive household. She was the strongest woman Verity knew. A loving, kind, nurturing woman. A woman with a backbone of steel.
‘You’re not safe here. I can’t stand back and let something happen to you…to all of you.’
‘I fear you’re right. We need to devise a better hiding place. Trust never an old enemy,’ Maggie quoted. She ran a hand over her head, tucking a loose strand of greying hair back into her tight chignon. ‘At all costs, we must keep the girls safe.’
Chapter Ten
The Dowager Marchioness of Faye was yesterday evening sighted at Vauxhall Gardens enjoying the fireworks with her ward, Mr Owen Tattershall, and her new lady’s companion, a Miss Smith of whom nobody who’s anybody seems to know anything. A mystery indeed.
— The Ladies’ Gazette
New plan: avoid Miss Ellen Smith at all costs.
Just to be on the safe side, Cal thought he’d better continue avoiding Lady F as well.
In fact, avoid everyone. The Season couldn’t last forever. As soon as July began to roll towards August and the true heat of summer hit Lady F would leave London, and so too would all the servants and, most importantly, the window adventuress, who he didn’t want to kiss and who wasn’t slowly but persistently pulling down the walls he’d built around his damaged heart for the last four years. All in just over a week, dammit!
He didn’t want to see Ellie. He didn’t want to think about Ellie. And he definitely didn’t want to strangle the person who’d struck her wrists black and blue.
Cal clenched his fists. Her secrets were her secrets. And he wanted nothing to do with them. Nothing to do with whatever she was keeping from him and the rest of the world.
He was standing by the front window in first-storey ballroom. In its heyday it had been a grand space with a moulded ceiling and a set of matching doors that led out onto a balcony. Now there was a wall down the centre, leaving Cal with half the space, half a window, and one of a pair of doors that had been boarded over since before he’d joined the Navy. It had been a long time since
this ballroom had seen any dancing.
Nonetheless, the half-window offered a partially decent view of the front garden and the street beyond.
Tzar sat at his feet. He wagged his tail each time Cal glanced down at him. Relenting, Cal took the last treat from his pocket and tossed it down to him. Tzar gobbled it up without even tasting it. The only time he ever moved faster than the pace of a snail was when there was food.
‘Good pup.’
With one last tail wag, Tzar lay down, his head on his front paws. Cal could practically hear his old joints groaning. The poor beggar. When Pierce had rescued Tzar from the streets, he’d seemed old then, and that had been many years ago. Now Tzar was positively decrepit. Yet tough as old nails. He’d probably outlive them all. Well, except for Lady F, who’d probably live forever just from sheer force of will.
As though in mockery of his new plan, the front door opened and Ellie stepped outside, right into his line of sight. She was clearly heading out. There was a small reticule around her wrist again and her bonnet had been returned to its rightful place, looking no worse for wear after its encounter with the honeysuckle. She was chatting amicably to someone just out of his sight.
A moment later, the young butler followed her down the steps.
Cal had spent some time in India with the Navy. There they didn’t have to suffer through these wishy-washy springs. It had just been bloody hot.
Chakrabarti was wearing the new suit Lady F had bought him. The dark fabric suited his brown skin, and the overall effect of the dark on dark made the white of his necktie so startlingly crisp even the great leader of fashion, Beau Brummell, would be hard put not to be envious—that is, had Brummell not escaped to Paris to avoid paying his debts. Cal had no time for wealthy men who lived beyond their means nor those who gambled away their fortunes.
Ellen spoke, her voice muted to Cal by the closed window, and Chakrabarti laughed.
Jealousy reared its ugly head, sending pain spiking through Cal’s stomach with the thought of another man touching, kissing…loving Ellie.
Hellfire. What was happening to him?
More to the point, what was Ellie doing to him? It was bad enough he was lusting after her. Now he was jealous?
‘…told me how you locked up the cake. Wait, are you even listening to anything I’m saying?’ Owen pushed his way in between Cal and the dividing wall to claim the best view out the half-window, careful not to step on Tzar.
Cal ignored his cousin, resolutely not moving away even though Owen was standing much too close. Chakrabarti said something that caught Ellen’s attention for she turned back to look at him. The smile slipped from her face as the butler handed her a missive.
‘She doesn’t look happy,’ Owen commented. Ellen tucked the correspondence into her minuscule bag without breaking the seal. Then they moved through the unlocked gate and started down the street. ‘Maybe it’s bad news from her family.’ Owen pressed his cheek to the glass, trying to watch the two of them for as long as possible.
‘Not happy’ was an understatement. Ellie had looked downright terrified when she’d seen the letter. Her eyes had widened and her features had frozen. He’d practically heard the breath catch in her throat.
Not that it’s any of my business.
Owen’s spectacles tapped against the window. He looked ridiculous with his face scrunched up against the glass. Hell, he looked ridiculous in his bright orange waistcoat.
‘Did you bring that cane with you just because you know it annoys me?’
‘Of course.’ Owen flashed him a classic Tattershall grin—genuine happiness with a sparkle of disarmingly white teeth.
‘And the orange waistcoat?’ Cal couldn’t help himself.
Owen’s smile faltered. He pressed a hand to his chest. ‘You don’t like the waistcoat? It cost me five guineas. It’s silk. Here, feel it.’ And he puffed out his chest.
Cal didn’t move.
Owen straightened with a shrug. ‘You’re no fun anymore. I don’t know why I bother coming to visit you.’
‘Neither do I.’ Cal strode away from the window, wanting to put as much distance as he could between himself and Ellie, even though she was well out of sight. ‘Can you hurry up and get this visit over and done with? I’ve got work to do.’
‘Actually, today I came to see Lizzy. She wanted to talk to me about Grace.’
‘What about Grace?’
Owen gave him a startled look. ‘You do know Grace hasn’t spoken to Lizzy since Pierce’s funeral.’ He shook his head. ‘Of course you didn’t.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Grace hates me. It’s not like we’ve kept in touch.’ These days contact between himself and his stepmother was strictly through their lawyers, who ensured Grace was provided with a generous allowance, part of the proceeds of the ducal estates.
‘It means in the last four years have you ever bothered asking Lizzy how she’s coping?’
Guilt tasted bitter. ‘She’s a tough old bird, and she’s coping just fine.’
‘You’re so caught up in your own world you can’t see what’s right in front of your eyes, Wood. She’s not fine. She stood up for you when everyone else thought you were responsible for that fire. And Grace has never forgiven her for it.’
Cal blinked. It took a moment for Owen’s words to sink in. ‘They’re fighting because of me?’ Fan-bloody-tastic! Just another nail in his coffin.
‘They’re fighting because they’re both heartbroken and because Grace isn’t thinking straight.’
‘Elizabeth shouldn’t have taken my side.’
‘Of course she should have.’ Owen raised his voice. ‘You didn’t start that fire. You didn’t kill Pierce. She did what was right and what she knew to be true.’ He sighed. ‘If only Grace would forgive her.’
If only he’d never been promoted to Captain.
If only he’d never joined the Navy.
If only his father had never brought him to London.
If only his mother had never run back to Scotland.
If only— If only— It was a dangerous game to play.
He turned his back on Owen. ‘Maybe I did kill Pierce.’
‘Don’t start that again.’
Even without looking, Cal knew Owen had just rolled his eyes. ‘Pierce died helping me put out the fire, on my ship.’ He hit his fist to his chest, relishing the second of pain.
‘You didn’t start the fire. I read the report. I know it was an accident.’
‘He should never have joined the Navy. This should all be his!’ He threw out his arm, waving at his house, at his title—his entire inheritance.
‘You’re the first born.’
‘Am I?’ The question burst out. It was the first time he’d even spoken his worry aloud. It was like a boulder on his chest, slowly crushing the breath out of him. ‘I don’t look anything like Hammond.’
‘Lizzy says you look like your mother.’
‘My mother,’ Cal spat. He couldn’t remember a thing about her, but he was acutely aware of the decision she’d made to abandon her husband and return to Scotland. A decision he didn’t have the luxury of making.
‘Hammond loved—’
‘But she didn’t love him. Not enough to stay. We all know there’s a possibility she lied about me. We all know there’s a possibility I’m living a lie. But Pierce wouldn’t have been.’ Pierce had unmistakably been Hammond’s son. They could have been brothers, they’d looked so alike. He raked a hand through his dark hair, such a contrast to Pierce and Hammond’s blond hair.
‘He wanted to join up.’ Owen squeezed his shoulder again. ‘I was there, remember? You bought your commission, and Pierce was so excited by the idea of an adventure he decided to come along too. You never pushed him into it.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘If only I’d joined up too. Maybe…’
Cal turned back to face him. ‘You were much too young.’
‘Younger men than I was joined.’
‘It would have br
oken Elizabeth’s heart.’ He’d been at sea for ten years—and Pierce for eight. Eight long years of their family not knowing if they were alive or dead. If Owen had gone too…if Owen had died… Thank goodness one of them had sense enough to have stayed behind.
‘Hammond was an extraordinary man,’ Cal continued. ‘He donated to countless charities, raised money for numerations organisations. And he was smart. He knew how to look after his tenants and manage his investments. Everyone loved him. And Pierce…’ He could barely form his thoughts into words. ‘He would have outshone even Hammond. Now, look at me.’ Cal waved a hand at himself. ‘I’m not half the man Pierce was. I don’t look like a duke. I don’t sound like a duke. And I certainly don’t behave like one.’
‘I disagree. What about all the documents I moved off the dining table the other day? They looked like estate papers, and you’ve clearly been working hard.’
‘You moved them?’
‘And from what I hear, the Woodhal empire is as prosperous as ever, for all that you run it from the comfort of your London dining room. Imagine how successful you could be if you actually stepped outside your front door once in a while.’
‘Tried that. It didn’t work.’ A while after Pierce’s death he’d made a gallant effort to rejoin Society. He’d attended the opera and more than his fair share of boring music recitals and dreary theatre performances. That was until he realised the ton would never again welcome the Duke of Woodhal into their company without remarking on his scars or his limp or his possible illegitimacy.
He might hold one of the most powerful titles short of royalty, but he’d quickly learned even his ducal inheritance wasn’t enough to save him from the vultures of Society, not when he presented them with so much to gossip about.
***
Ellen tucked the book more firmly under her arm as Chakrabarti opened the front door. He stepped aside, letting her enter first.
Lady Faye had requested scandalous, and Ellen had taken the dowager at her word. She now held a rather explicit romance the bookseller had slipped to her from behind his counter. She was pretty sure it was banned book, or at least it would be banned if the authorities ever got their hands on a copy.
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