A Daring Liaison

by Gail Ranstrom

  Charles folded the paper and put it in his waistcoat pocket. “How much time will it buy if I send Georgiana to the hunting lodge in Scotland?”

  “They’d be barely a day behind her. Go sit down, Hunter. I’ll see if I can hunt up Richardson.”

  Charles retreated down the corridor to his own office. He sat at his desk and sighed. Not even noon, and he’d almost been killed. He was hoping his day would get better when a sharp knock sounded at his door. “Come,” he called.

  The door opened a crack, and Tom Clark peeked in. “You got a minute, Hunter?”

  “Yes.” He stood to welcome the old Bow Street Runner.

  The man came in, shut the door behind him and pulled his soft cap off his head. “Got that information for you.”

  Charles gestured to the chair in front of his desk and they sat. Clark reached inside his jacket and removed several sheets of paper with ragged edges. “These are my notes on the Betman robbery.” He unfolded the papers and slid them across the desk to Charles.

  There were rough notes written in blurred and faded lead, and a few rough sketches. Clark had recalled the details clearly. Everything he’d told Charles was written on these pages, but the sketches were new. They’d never been entered into the official file. One of them detailed a brooch in the form of a Scottish thistle with the notation “solid gold, amethyst center.” A necklace with an elaborately swirled jeweled clasp that fastened in the front bore the inscription “solid gold, amethyst and diamond stones.” And earrings had the simple notation “pearls.”

  “May I keep this, Clark? Or have the clerk make a copy?”

  “You can keep it, sir. Put it in the file. They wouldn’t let me do that back then, since it wasn’t supposed to be a robbery. Weren’t interested in the truth after his lordship called them off.”

  Charles shook his head. “I am still amazed that Lord Betman would rather the villains got away than that justice be done for his daughter.”

  Clark squirmed in his chair and twisted his cap. “There were reasons, sir.”

  Charles leaned back and looked at the clock. A bit too early to offer the man a drink, but he needed to put Clark at ease to get the rest of the story, though he was beginning to suspect the truth. “Tea?” he asked.

  “Thank you, sir, but no. If there’s nothin’ else, I’d best be on my way.”

  Charles was sure Clark knew more, and certain, too, that he wanted to tell it. To unburden himself of the bad taste the case had left in his mouth. “Are you certain there’s nothing else, Clark?”

  His hesitation was enough of an admission.

  “If I don’t know it all, I may miss something.”

  “Don’t know how it could help anyone now.”

  “You can trust my discretion. I will not repeat anything you tell me.”

  The older man sank into his chair again and let out a massive sigh. “Aye, then. That girl. Lady Caroline. When we found her in that alley, she was tore up real bad. Blood everywhere. Gave a good fight, like I said. But what wasn’t in the report was that she was raped. Brutal. They’d ripped her unmentionables off and there was plenty of blood...down there, too. She’d been a virgin, I warrant.”

  Charles groaned. For the first time, he saw past Lady Caroline’s haughtiness to the events that had changed her forever. From the sweet young girl Carlington loved to the bitter woman Charles had met, she had endured the worst that could happen to a woman. And found the strength to survive. “Why did you not put that in the report?”

  “Didn’t seem right, somehow. She’d been hurt enough. Didn’t need me and Frank writin’ things down where anyone could read it. There’d be a worse scandal than there already was.”

  A sick feeling settled in the pit of Charles’s stomach. So much to think about. So much to unravel. He stood and reached into his ripped waistcoat pocket to remove a crown and flipped the coin to Clark. “Thank you. I appreciate your candor. If you should remember anything else, you know where to find me.”

  * * *

  Georgiana and the other ladies sat around a low table in the back dressing room at La Meilleure Robe while Gina, now her sister-in-law, poured tea. Georgiana realized with a bit of wonder that she was now somehow related to everyone in the room with the exception of Lady Annica and Grace Hawthorne.

  “Whatever happened to that woman who stood before us swearing never to marry again?” Lady Annica teased with a broad smile.

  “I...I...”

  “She hadn’t bargained on Charlie,” Sarah finished for her. “My brother can be quite persuasive.”

  Georgiana blushed, thinking of all the things he’d persuaded her to do last night. “More than I’d realized. Though, were I to be honest, I would have to admit that I have always had a tendresse for him.”

  “How sweet,” Grace said. “I do so love a story that ends happily.”

  A polite rap at the rear door of the dressing room drew their attention. “Entrez!” Lady Annica called.

  Mr. Renquist came in, his little notebook in his hand. “Ladies,” he said with a small bow.

  “Mr. Renquist, would you like a cup of tea?” Sarah asked.

  His lips quirked in a quick smile, but he shook his head. “I’ve got to catch up with some of the lads and see what else they might have found. But I have had some success on the matters we spoke of last time.”

  “Did you meet with Mr. Foxworthy?” Georgiana asked.

  “Aye, just after your meeting with him, apparently. Did you, indeed, marry Mr. Charles Hunter?”

  She nodded. “Mr. Foxworthy was upset when I told him.”

  “He called you several, um, unkind names, Mrs. Huff—er, Mrs. Hunter. Seems to think you married Hunter just to halt his petition as conservator.”

  She looked down into her teacup. “Of course not. Though I will admit, that was a happy result.”

  Mr. Renquist squirmed uneasily and looked away. “And how is Mr. Hunter?”

  “Still alive.” She gave him a dry smile. Was that little sigh he emitted one of relief?

  “Yes, well. I’ve had news of Foxworthy’s arrest.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “The murder of your husbands. I believe it is being said that he had motive for keeping you childless, and that his intent was always to become your conservator in order to wrest the Betman fortune from you, but he could not while Lady Caroline was alive. He did not expect you to become engaged so soon after your guardian’s death.”

  “But that is wonderful!” Gina exclaimed. “Then the mystery is solved. You are safe, Georgiana. Charles will be so pleased!”

  “I fear not,” Mr. Renquist interrupted. “It is being said that there is no proof. The case against Mr. Foxworthy is thin, at best. There are whispers in the Home Office that he will be released and you will be arrested next, Mrs. Hunter.”

  She’d been expecting something of the sort. She took a tight rein on her emotions. “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Renquist. I shall put my affairs in order. And Mr. York?”

  “He appears to have borrowed heavily in expectation of inheriting the bulk of his uncle’s estate. His creditors are nipping at his heels. I think, if you offer him a reasonable sum, he will take it.”

  “I shall have my solicitor draw up an offer,” she said. “I would like these details cleared up before...before I may not be able to attend to business.”

  “As for your Mr. Hathaway, he has not been seen recently. After a few meetings with several individuals, he has gone missing.”

  “Who did he meet with, Mr. Renquist?”

  “One of my men followed him to your solicitor’s office, the Home Office and the Cat’s Paw, a disreputable public house just off Petticoat Lane. I can only guess at his business.”

  “Please do,” she invited. She had her own suspicions, but she would like Mr. Renquist to confirm or deny them.

  “I suspect he may have gone to your solicitor to ask for hush money—that he would not discuss the intimate details of your home if he were paid
to keep his silence. When that did not work, he likely went to the Home Office to offer evidence of some sort against you, and that is why we are hearing whispers of your possible arrest. As for the Cat’s Paw? That is anyone’s guess. My man did not recognize the person Mr. Hathaway met with, but said the man was of an unwholesome nature.”

  “Why am I not astonished?” she muttered, more to herself than to the others.

  Mr. Renquist looked ready to comment and then took a deep breath before continuing his report. “In regard to the man who accosted you in Vauxhall Gardens, Mrs. Hunter, I believe you have become the object of some very unsavory attention. I suspect that he and the man from the rookeries could be the same. If so, you are in grave danger.”

  “Does this man have a name, sir?”

  “Gibbons. Richard Gibbons. Known as Dick.”

  Of course. Had there ever been a doubt? She braced herself for the next question. “Can you tell me what his business is with me? Or anything else about him?”

  “I cannot imagine, Mrs. Hunter, unless it has something to do with your husband.”

  All the possibilities whirled in her mind until she could barely think. But she needed to know if there could be a single ounce of truth in the things he’d said to her. “I... Please tell me what you know about him.”

  “He is the lowest of all possible levels, Mrs. Hunter. His deeds would shock you to the core. I do not wish to speak of them in mixed company. Suffice it to say that he might be seeking to use you to hurt Mr. Hunter. He has tried countless times to kill him, and perhaps he has settled on hurting you instead.”

  He did not need to speak those deeds aloud. Her memory of the night in the coach was clear enough. Charles had had no such qualms about voicing them. The vilest of the vile... They robbed, raped, pillaged and murdered their way through London. They were known for their filth and utter lack of morals. If it’s birthed a Gibbons, you’d do the world a favor to exterminate it before it can spread.

  “I see Mr. Finn is still with you, and I urge you to go nowhere without him. Be careful, Mrs. Hunter. Very careful.”

  She wanted to thank him, but her throat had closed and her mouth had gone dry. She expended her entire energy in gaining control of her emotions.

  “Excellent advice, Mr. Renquist,” Sarah said for her. “The more people you are with, Georgiana, the less likely he is to approach.”

  But he already had done so. The horrid claims he’d made and what he wanted of her. She felt physically ill.

  “I will keep inquiring, Mrs. Hunter,” Mr. Renquist vowed as he put his notebook back in his coat pocket. “We shall get this sorted out as quickly as may be.”

  The door closed behind him and Georgiana let out a sigh. “If there is time enough...”

  The dressing room fell silent and none of the ladies would meet her gaze. They knew how dire her circumstances were, and they did not want her to see their fear for her. Long moments passed while Georgiana tried to find the words to tell them what she suspected, but nothing would come. Not even the confession that she was Lady Caroline’s natural daughter.

  Lady Annica was the first to speak. “Well, we needn’t worry overmuch. We have never given up a case, nor have we ever been unsuccessful in the past. We are not about to fail with you, Georgiana. We have another day. Perhaps two.”

  Some cynical part of Georgiana’s mind noted that an unbroken record was bound to be broken sooner or later.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Georgiana had pushed the unwelcome thoughts of her origins out of her head until she arrived home and closed the library door behind her. Alone, unwatched, she could finally surrender to her deepest fears. She gripped the back of a chair and held on for dear life as pain so intense she could not credit it shot through her. She doubled over with it and clung to a side table to keep from crumbling to the floor.

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t! Please, God, it couldn’t.

  If it’s birthed a Gibbons, you’d do the world a favor to exterminate it before it can spread.

  How could Charles ever forgive such a thing? How could he ever look at her and not think of who she was? Gibbons blood flowed through her veins—would flow through his children’s veins! How could he ever accept that? How could she? But it had to be true. All the pieces fit, including that horrid man’s interest in her. He’d told her the truth in the garden, and yet she’d hoped he was lying or deluded. Hoped that Lord Carlington had sired her.

  It was a full five minutes before she could stand erect again. On shaky knees, she went to the sideboard where the decanters were all lined up in a civilized row. Her hands trembled as she removed one stopper after another, trying to find the most potent brew. She settled on a rich amber whiskey and poured a full glass, ignoring the way the lip of the decanter rattled against the crystal rim.

  The first swallow burned its way down her throat and threatened to come up again. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, steadying her nerves as well as her stomach. The second swallow was easier and spread a calming warmth outward. Another deep breath. Another swallow.

  Why, I’m yer pa.

  Despite the fading of day, she did not stop to light a lamp on her way to the fireplace. There, she sank to the hearth, glass in one hand and decanter in the other, needing the heat of the fire to bring feeling back to her numbed limbs and needing the courage of the liquor to face the truth. Dear God! What was she going to do? What could she do?

  I’ve been watchin’ you yer whole life, Georgie gal. Ever since you was brought back to Kent. Finest thing I ever done. Think it was me, but coulda been Artie. An’ everything we done after was fer you.

  When the contents of her glass were gone, she poured more and drew her knees up to rest her forehead on them, then circled them with her arms. She rocked as if she could comfort herself, but there was no comfort in who and what she was. A Gibbons. Her husband’s enemy.

  A gal’s bound to do what her pa says. Now that yer ma’s gone, I’m yer boss. D’you understand?

  After a time—she did not know how long—she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. She had survived the deaths of everyone she’d ever loved, and she would find a way to survive the loss of Charles for the second time. But how could she face him? Confess her heritage? Watch his dawning horror, loathing and disgust? Oh, Lord. Anything but that. The gallows first!

  What a wretched coward she was! She could not tell him. Now or ever. She would have to find another way to give him his freedom.

  * * *

  Informed by Clara that Georgiana had arrived home and gone to the library with instructions that she not be disturbed, Charles knocked at the door. When there was no answer, he turned the latch. The room was in shadows but he could see Georgiana by the fireplace. She was sitting on the hearth, hugging her knees—the very picture of contemplation. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. He did not want the servants overhearing the conversation they were going to have.

  “Georgiana?”

  She shuddered and turned to look at him. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were reddened.

  A sudden and unfamiliar mix of anger and concern struck him in the chest. “Good Lord! What has happened? Did someone hurt you?”

  She gulped, and he realized it was a sob. Whoever—whatever—had hurt her would pay for that.

  He knelt beside her and recognized the whiskey in the bottom of her glass. And in the decanter beside it. What had sent her to the bottle? Whatever it was, it had torn her apart. He’d never seen her so distraught. He took the glass from her hand and put it on the hearth next to the decanter.

  “Georgie, tell me what happened.”

  She sniffed and he handed her his handkerchief. “I cannot talk about it, Charles. ’Tis still so...so fresh.”

  “Then have another glass of whiskey, m’dear, because we are not leaving this room until I have the whole of it.”

  Taking him at his word, she reached for the whiskey.

  He smiled and took
it from her and set it back on the hearth. If he was any judge, she had yet to feel the full effects of what she’d already consumed. Even without more, she’d be drunker in ten minutes than she was now. “Just tell me, Georgiana. Whatever it is cannot be all that bad.”

  She laughed and the sound bordered on hysteria. “You would think not, wouldn’t you? But I cannot imagine worse.”

  “Say it, Georgiana. Whatever it is, we will sort it out.”

  “It cannot be undone, Charles. It is far too late for that.”

  “I warn you. I will not rest until I know.”

  She sighed and rested her forehead on her knees. When she spoke at last, her voice was so soft he barely heard her. “I am not what you think I am.”

  Ah, so she knew. The question was, when had she learned the truth. “I do know what you are.”

  “You couldn’t. Caroline Betman was...was my mother, and—”

  “I know.”

  She looked up at him and blinked. “How?”

  “I sent an investigator to Cornwall. I had Carlington make inquiries in the Royal Navy. There were no Carsons who had a baby girl. But you were born nine months after Lady Caroline’s departure from London. And she came back for you once her father was gone.”

  “I see.”

  “And you look a bit like her, Georgiana.” But he had to know the rest. Had she deceived him? “When did you find out?”

  “The day I went to see Lady Aston. My...mother set the facts out quite plainly to her, with instructions to tell me only after she was gone.”

  “That was the day before we married, was it not?”

  She nodded and looked down at her knees again.

  The first stirring of anger twitched in his stomach. “Did you not think this was a fact I should know concerning the woman I was about to marry?”

  She frowned as if she was trying to remember something. “I did not have time. When Sarah and I arrived at the chapel, you were all waiting. I started to say something...but you shook your head.”