“Cedric says there’s money to be made there,” Sebastian shrugged, turning his gaze away towards the sunset. It was their last night in Eton, both boys were now strapping young men of eighteen. Tall and handsome the Marquess of Sutherland had his whole life mapped out before him, whereas Sebastian felt as though nothing was certain about his future. He imagined he was like the head of a dandelion, that a violent gust of wind could come along and it would scatter him completely.
“You will come back though won’t you?” Sutherland asked, keeping his tone deliberately casual. The young Marquess was inwardly horrified at the thought of navigating the trials of Oxford without his closest chum.
“Of course I will,” Sebastian said firmly; “I’ll come back as a rich-man and build a house to rival yours.”
And a home, he added silently to himself; one day I’ll build myself a home.
CHAPTER TWO
.
Aurelia St Claire was hopelessly lost, and worse, she was lost is the last place on earth any respectable young lady would want to be lost in – St. Giles’; London’s most notorious slum. Head bent, the young girl walked quickly through the dark streets, desperately trying to remember which way it was she had come, hoping that if she could just get to the Seven Dials, then she could find her way back to the more affluent areas she was familiar with.
The gin cellars that The Rookery was so notorious for were beginning to fill with people; hard-looking men in their cups spilled out from the establishments – if one could call them that – onto the streets. Many eyed Aurelia with lascivious looks as she passed, and nervously she gathered her shawl closer to her, as though the flimsy piece of cloth could protect her.
She did not belong here, and these men could tell that, despite the plain clothes she had disguised herself in when she had fled her Uncle’s home, Aurelia was of another class to them.
“Well, well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?”
A large, hulk of a man stepped out from a dark alleyway, planting himself firmly in her path so that Aurelia could not pass. His face was pockmarked with scars, and his wide, cunning smile revealed many missing teeth.
“Excuse me sir I wish to pass,” Aurelia said, avoiding the man’s eyes, which were traversing her body most impudently.
“Oh, I couldn’t let a pretty fing like you go runnin’ off now, could I?”
Aurelia’s heart began to pound erratically in fear at his words, though she kept her features as calm as she could.
“I asked you politely to move out of my way sir, I will not ask again,” the commanding tone of her voice belied the fear she felt.
“An’ I said you’re too pretty to be going anywhere.”
The man lunged at her, grabbing her around the waist with arms as thick as tree trunks.
“No,’ Aurelia shouted, dropping her worldly belongings to the ground as she struggled to fight the man off. She kicked and screamed as loudly as she could, hoping that the drunks from the gin cellar would come running to her aid, but of course they did not.
The horrid man had thrown her over his shoulder, and was making down the dark alleyway he had appeared from, when a low drawling voice stopped him in his tracks.
“I believe the lady asked you to let her go Smithwick.”
The man turned around slowly, with Aurelia still thrown over his shoulder like a bag of coal.
“Mr Black,” the man gave a nervous chuckle; “What are you doin’ ‘ere?”
“I’m looking for you,” the response was deep and menacing; “Let the lady go Smithwick, and I promise I’ll play nice.”
The man quickly let go of Aurelia, who fell with a thump onto the cold, damp ground. Rubbing her bottom to quell the pain of her landing, she surreptitiously glanced at the man who had saved her. It was hard to make out his features in the darkness, but she could see that he was tall, much taller than Smithwick, and though he was not as broad, he certainly looked strong and dangerous.
“You owe me money,” Aurelia’s rescuer spoke again, his voice soft and chilling; “And what’s more there’s a Bow Street Runner by the name of Fielding who says you owe him a few years in Newgate Smithwick.”
Smithwick gave a grunt of anger in response to this statement. The thug rolled up his sleeves and began to pace threateningly towards the other man.
“Who do you fink you are?” Smithwick roared; “You ain’t nuffin but a bastard son of a Duke Black, you gots no right to swan about the Rookery, act’n like you’re a lord. You aint posh, you’re one of us.”
Aurelia clasped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from shouting in fear; Smithwick had picked up a large brick and was now menacingly approaching the man, who was clearly unarmed.
“Oh if I had a penny for every time someone called me a bastard,” the mysterious man said, standing nonchalant as the ruffian approached him.
“Why you’d be a very rich man,” another, almost jovial, voice called out; “But then you already are Black, so don’t be greedy.”
There was the definite sound of a pistol clicking, and the second man now approached Smithwick, the weapon gleaming in his gloved hand.
“You have two choices old fellow,” the man said, most pleasantly considering the circumstances; “Either I put a bullet in your head now – which I think I would rather enjoy, or you accompany me and Mr Black around the corner to Mr Fielding, who wants to have a little word with you.”
Smithwick, sensing that his options were limited, dropped the brick he was holding.
“Hands up in the air, if you please,” the second man instructed, and the ruffian willingly complied.
Aurelia watched quietly as the two men led Smithwick away, waiting for a few seconds to be sure of her safety, before she stood up and began to search the ground in the alleyway for her belongings which had fallen during her struggle with the awful man.
“Are you alright Miss?”
It was Black, she knew by his voice.
“I’m fine,” Aurelia snapped defensively, snatching up the last of her clothes, and stuffing them into the basket in which she had been carrying them. She needed to get out of here, and away from this man Black – the mention of Bow Street runners had given her a fright, surely her Uncle had alerted them that she was missing. Oh, what if she was found and returned to him?
“You don’t look fine,” Black said, casually stooping to pick up her favourite pearl pin, which must have fallen from her hair during her struggle with Smithwick.
“You also don’t look like you belong here. Are you lost?”
The words were spoken with genuine concern, and as she reached out to take the pin he proffered, Aurelia decided that she could trust Black…well, trust him enough to get her away from St Giles’.
“Actually sir,” she said casually, as she tucked the pin back into her hair; “I have managed to get myself a little bit lost. You see I was due to begin work as a- a- a scullery maid in Mayfair, but alas I seem to have lost my way. Perhaps you could furnish me with the direction.”
Black looked at her in amusement, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. He was sinfully handsome, Aurelia thought distractedly. He had an aristocratic face, which was framed by dark black curls – though his eyes, despite his dark colouring were a violent shade of blue.
Mr Black looked at Aurelia, those blue eyes dancing with amusement, and he gave an elaborate bow that wouldn’t have been out of place in Almack’s.
“I can do you one better - if you wish to save your feet the walk, my friend the Marquess of Sutherland has his carriage just across the street. We are returning to St James’ and Mayfair is just a small detour. We can drop you there on our way.”
The choice between trusting this Black fellow, who Aurelia could clearly tell had seen through her ruse, and being left to walk the cold, dark London Streets for the night was an easy one.
“That is most kind Mr Black,” she said with a bob of her head, aware that he seemed to be highly amused by her but her tired feet overruling her brain.<
br />
Once her consent had been gained, Black chivalrously took her basket, which was rather heavy, and led her towards the carriage, her arm tucked safely into the crook of his own.
“Does the Appleby’s home look familiar?”
Gabriel Livingstone, Marquess of Sutherland’s voice was dry with sarcasm as he watched the young lady peer out of the window of the carriage, her brow furrowed with annoyance. Sebastian Black bit back a bark of laughter as he observed the battle of wills going on between his oldest friend, and the mysterious young woman who was too stubborn to admit she was lying.
“No my Lord it does not,” the young lady in question said tartly, throwing Gabriel a dark look; “As I have told you it will be easier for me to gain my bearings on foot – if you can instruct your driver to stop, I can make my way myself.”
The trio had been circling Mayfair for nearly half an hour, in search of the young lady’s new employers. Her insistence that she knew where she was going, had been replaced by stubborn amnesia when the two men had informed her that they would be escorting her safely to the door.
“I think perhaps Miss Murphy,” Sebastian hid a smile at the girl’s ludicrous Irish pseudonym; “That you ought to take Lord Sutherland up on his offer of a bed for the night. His sister Lady Caroline is in residence there, so rest assured all is above board.”
Exhaustion had apparently taken a toll on her will, for ‘Mary Murphy’ gave a deep sigh and acquiesced with a nod of her head.
“As long as I am not being a burden on you,” she sniffed.
“Not on me Mary,” Gabriel winked; “But you’ll have to listen to Mrs Wilkes grumbling about what an awful employer I am, once we wake her up.”
Mrs Wilkes did indeed grumble at first, when the footman brought her to the drawing room where the trio were waiting. Sutherland gallantly attempted to explain the circumstances at which Mary had come to arrive, well past midnight, at his St James’ home.
“Begging your pardon m’lord,” the kindly faced Mrs Wilkes said as he finished, wrapping an arm around Mary as she led her from the room; “But you’ve been ruining my sleep, every night for nearly thirty odd years, I think it’s about time I retire – perhaps this young lady can replace me.”
Sutherland gave Sebastian a dark look.
“If tonight leads to the early departure of Mrs Wilkes from my staff, I shall never forgive you Black.”
“I rather think she’s dealt with worse than this during her tenure with you as her employer,” Sebastian replied blithely; “Never fear Gabe, your stomach shall not suffer her loss.”
They sat in silence as they listened to the receding chatter of Mrs Wilkes as she led their new acquaintance up the stairs, to a guest bedchamber. Once they heard the definite click of a door closing they both turned and looked at each other with amused smiles; they had been friends for so long that they could almost read each other’s thoughts.
“An Irish scullery maid, with no scullery,” Gabriel laughed incredulously.
Sebastian gave him his usual wolfish smile, though internally he was troubled; why was such an obviously well-born young girl walking around the slums of St Giles’ at night?
“Do you think perhaps she’s a runaway?”
Once he had asked the question Sebastian knew instantly that it was true – though far from being a spoiled young woman trying to worry her parents, ‘Mary Murphy’ seemed genuinely afraid of being caught.
“I’d bet my best stallion on it,” Gabriel replied glumly; “But as you may recall, you already won him from me last week in Boodle’s.”
“I shall call tomorrow for breakfast Gabe,” Sebastian said as he stood to leave, ignoring Sutherland’s grumble about his horse. He stretched his tall frame languidly as he yawned; “And tomorrow morning we shall get to the bottom of this mystery.”
“Not too early mind Black,” Gabriel replied, his boyish face grumpy; “You keep forgetting that some of us don’t have to work for a living and aren’t used to rising early.”
Sebastian gave a sigh – he couldn’t stand the privileged laziness of the aristocracy, and if Gabriel wasn’t his oldest friend, he was sure they wouldn’t be friends at all.
“I’m sure Mrs Wilkes will have something tasty to tempt you out of bed Gabe,” he said dryly, before mock bowing to the Marquess of Sutherland, and seeing himself out.
CHAPTER THREE
.
Aurelia awoke the next morning when the maid pulled back the curtains of the room in which she slept, to allow the morning light shine in. The bed she was lying in was so warm and comfortable, and she felt so safe, that for a few moments she forgot where she was, and how it was she had ended up there.
“My mistress sent me up to suss you out.”
The curious eyes of the maid who had opened the curtains raked Aurelia from head to toe, nosy as you like.
“She said you reckon you’re a scullery maid,” the girl continued, coming to sit on the edge of the bed beside her and peering at Aurelia, who lifted herself to a seated position, and pulled the bedsheets up to her chin. Never had a servant examined her with such impertinence, she thought crossly.
“I reckon you’re lyin’ though,” the maid continued slyly, a mischievous smile upon her young face. She was no more than twenty, a plain faced girl with a pronounced cockney accent and her manner was very different from Aurelia’s own Lady’s Maid, who had been French and an even bigger fusspot about manners than Aurelia.
“Why do you think I’m lying?” Aurelia asked crossly, unused to being accused of untruths so early in the morning, especially by a servant.
“’Cuse most maids ‘ere know their place,” the girl said primly, standing up with her nose in the air, obviously offended by Aurelia’s testy tone.
“And where’s that?” Aurelia called out perplexed, to the girl, who was walking out the door.
“Downstairs with the other servants,” the girl turned and gave her a wicked smile; “You’re expected down there now. My mistress wants to speak with you.”
Completely vexed at having been spoken down to by a servant and caught out so easily in her lie, Aurelia dressed herself slowly, her mind working to figure out a plan of escape. Her basket of possessions had been placed on the nightstand by Mrs Wilkes, and after readying herself in her plain faux servants garments and cape, Aurelia made sure that she had everything packed back into the basket before she left the room. She would not be staying with the Marquess of Sutherland and his sister, she decided, it was too risky. Everyone that met her seemed to see through her disguise, including that man Mr. Black…
A memory of his shocking blue eyes both mocking and amused by her, in the carriage the previous night made her shiver – a man like that was dangerous to know.
“Miss Murphy,” the Marquess of Sutherland was waiting at the end of the staircase for her, his handsome face smiling.
“My Lord Sutherland,” Aurelia gave a stiff curtsy; “Thank you for your hospitality last night, I must be leaving for my new employers before they send out a search party.”
“Codswallop,” the Marquess replied with a convivial snort; “There’s no employers and there’s no search party. My sister Lady Caroline is in the breakfast room and wishes to speak with you. Come along.”
Although his tone was pleasant and polite, the hand which gripped Aurelia’s elbow was strong and unrelenting, and she found herself being frogmarched down the corridor to meet Lady Caroline. It was now, officially, a hopeless situation Aurelia thought glumly to herself as she was marched to meet her fate. Lady Caroline, one of the ton’s leading hostesses, was sure to recognize Aurelia from one of her first two seasons. Indeed, the moment that the Marquess led her into the room a cry of astonished laughter greeted them.
“That’s no scullery maid Gabriel you fool,” a tall, elegant, blonde woman rose from the table and walked towards them, her face studying Aurelia’s in confusion; “That’s Miss St Claire, of Epsom. What on earth is going on?”
Lady Caroline a
nd the Marquess looked at Aurelia in bewilderment, who struggled to keep herself cool in the face of their scrutiny.
“I –,“ she took a deep breath, straightened her back to calm herself, and tried to think of a valid excuse that the Marquess and his sister might believe but the words would not come. Aurelia looked up at the ceiling, focusing on the intricate plaster work on the friezes rather than the faces of her two accusers, as she tried to think of a lie.
“She is missing from her home in Belgravia,” a languid voice called out, causing them all to jump as Mr. Black made his presence known. Aurelia’s stomach flipped at the sound of his deep, masculine speech; she did not need a man as distracting as Sebastian Black around at a time like this. Casually she glanced his way, only to find that his ice-blue eyes were watching her, a frown creasing his dark brow.
“Have you run away from home dear?” Lady Caroline adopted a concerned tone, and she walked towards Aurelia and took her hand in hers in a materialistic gesture.
“No. Well yes, but not really,” Aurelia said to the older woman, a lump forming in her throat as she tried to explain her situation. She valiantly fought off the tears which were threatening to spill as she composed herself. “It’s not my home anymore – not since my Uncle inherited the title.”
“Your Uncle, Richard St Claire the Third, who is now the Baron of Epsom and has several Bow Street runners on the lookout for you,” Mr Black said stepping into the room, and gesturing for Aurelia to take a seat at the breakfast table.
“He is putting it about that you belong in Bedlam Miss St Claire,” Mr Black spoke in a business-like manner that Aurelia would normally have found comforting, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was stating that her closest relative wished her locked up in a lunatic asylum.
“He is lying,” Aurelia burst out loudly – then covered her mouth with her hand, shocked at the violence of her reaction. She had been brought up as a Lady and ladies did not shout; the outburst was quite out of character.
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