Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3)

by Lana Williams

  “Well, well, how interesting to see you all together.”

  “Good evening, Samantha,” Julia said, nudging Grace as though attempting to bolster her.

  Grace greeted her along with the Dowager and Tristan. Samantha was flanked by the two ladies who seemed to accompany her everywhere.

  Samantha’s attention returned to Grace, her disdain clear, which tempted Grace to turn in the opposite direction and walk away. Quickly. But, no. Viscountess Chivington would do no such thing. Grace lifted her chin, reminding herself she had nothing of which to be ashamed.

  “When we were first introduced, I was certain I had seen you before.” Samantha’s voice rang across the room, catching many of the other guests’ attention. She’d timed her announcement perfectly to fit in the lull after the music had stopped.

  “Oh?” Grace waited, wondering what she intended, her unease worsening by the moment.

  “I was visiting my dressmaker’s shop not long ago.”

  No. Her words sent Grace’s heart plummeting as a vivid memory filled her mind. Already she could feel heat stain her cheeks. That moment was forever engraved on her mind. She’d been too horrified to take much notice of the lady she’d seen that day. But now that Samantha mentioned it, Grace knew who it had been and why Samantha seemed familiar when she’d first met her.

  “You were begging outside the shop that day, seeking handouts from anyone who passed by.” The gleam in Samantha’s eyes made Grace feel positively ill.

  “No, I—”

  “Begging?” one of Samantha’s friends echoed as though they’d rehearsed this terrible confrontation. “How awful.”

  Grace glanced at Tristan, hoping he’d give her a chance to explain. But his expression was unreadable as he stared at his former fiancée.

  “It was a misunderstanding.” Grace’s throat felt so tight she could hardly get out the words.

  “Is this true?” The Dowager looked at Grace as though she’d just grown spots.

  “Don’t lie,” Samantha ordered. “My maid gave you money. Do you deny it?”

  The heat of shame swept through Grace, and she wanted desperately for the floor to open and swallow her whole. How many times had she told herself that she was only a vicar’s daughter? That she didn’t belong in this world? “I wasn’t begging. I...”

  Her words trailed off as she caught sight of Charles and Lynette a short distance away. Charles’s knowing smile made her realize he had something to do with this.

  Tristan moved closer to her but she couldn’t look at him, too afraid of what she might see. Did he think her a fraud? That she was unworthy of him?

  “What sort of viscountess begs on the streets of London?” Samantha’s voice was well-suited for an actress as it carried across the room, gathering more and more on-lookers. “That is a frightful example for your son.”

  “You are unfit to be a mother,” Samantha’s other friend added.

  Grace’s embarrassment disappeared like a flash of lightning at the mention of Matthew. “How dare you say such things. I am a wonderful mother.”

  “A mother who begs on the streets? Have you taught your son to do so as well?”

  “She wasn’t begging,” Julia argued, her willingness to defend Grace admirable.

  “Enough.” Tristan’s curt word cut through the crowd’s murmur and caused Samantha to jolt in response. “What are you about?”

  Grace at last looked at him, the disgust in his expression breaking her heart. But he wasn’t addressing her. He stared at Samantha, directing his inquiry to her.

  “Why are you questioning Viscountess Chivington’s actions?” he continued. “What have you done to help those in need in this city?”

  “I hardly think—”

  “Exactly.” He took Grace’s hand and tucked it under his elbow. “She chose to live as others are forced to for a brief time. This allowed her to better understand the plight of the poor, of those who must beg on the streets or starve.”

  Grace could only blink at his statement. It wasn’t a complete lie as she had indeed chosen to move in with Molly and attempt to find work. And she certainly did have a better understanding of those in need. But that had all been quite by accident.

  “How noble of you.” The Dowager Countess of Adair reached out to pat her arm. “I should like to hear more about what that was like.”

  “As would I,” Julia added, delight in her eyes.

  “The viscountess and I are in discussions to establish a charity specifically for the purpose of aiding the beggars in London.”

  “Oh?” Samantha frowned, then sent a glare over Grace’s shoulder. At Charles.

  Tristan’s gaze followed hers and he stiffened. “You.” He released Grace to rush toward Charles.

  Charles’s eyes widened in fear before he turned and ran, leaving his wife behind as he forced his way through the crowd toward the garden door. Tristan was directly behind him with Frost and Nathaniel following.

  Lynette’s face was pale as she stared at Grace before she hurried after her husband, her progress slowed by the crush.

  As Julia looped her arm through Grace’s, Lettie joined them.

  Samantha stood staring at them, her face flushed and eyes uncertain. “I suppose I could have misinterpreted the situation.” Her two “friends” had departed without a word.

  “One day, perhaps you will remember to not be so quick to judge.” Lettie lifted her chin then deliberately turned away from the woman.

  Grace realized how many people had gathered around them. Being the center of attention was difficult under good circumstances let alone these. She offered a small smile to those who met her eyes.

  One lady stepped closer. “What was it like? Were you treated kindly?”

  Another joined her. “I confess that I tend to avoid eye contact with those lingering about, looking for a handout. I never considered what their situation might be.”

  Before Grace knew it, several others had come closer to join the conversation.

  “Say, I would like to know more about this project you and Adair are working on. Are contributions being accepted to help with it?”

  “I am certain he will share more details as the plans progress,” Grace advised. What more could she say when she knew nothing about it?

  When more questions were directed her way, she glanced at Lettie, then asked those nearby, “Have any of you read a book called The Seven Curses of London?”

  Lettie and Julia both beamed with pride before joining in the discussion as well.

  In those few moments, Grace nearly forgot Samantha. When she looked for her, she was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t stop Grace from worrying what the woman might try next. But overtaking that concern was what might be happening with Tristan and his pursuit of Charles.

  As quickly as possible, she excused herself and moved toward the garden door, anxious to make certain Tristan was well.

  Tristan searched in the garden, his eyes slowly adjusting to the night.

  “Leave off.” The muffled demand came from his left.

  Tristan hurried toward the voice, Frost and Nathaniel behind him.

  A lantern dimly lit this area of the garden, revealing Langston holding Stannus on the ground, face down with his knee in the middle of Stannus’s back.

  “Excellent work, Langston,” Tristan smiled grimly, pleased the man hadn’t escaped. He’d anticipated that if Stannus made an appearance, he’d also be forced to make a quick escape and had requested Langston’s assistance.

  At the sound of Tristan’s voice, Stannus’s head snapped around, his expression a snarl. “You?”

  Before Tristan, Frost, and Nathaniel could assist Langston, Stannus scrambled free. As Langston moved to regain his hold, Stannus rose, a knife glinting in his hand. “Back. All of you.”

  Anger, hot and red, surged through Tristan. It started in his face, tightened his chest, and narrowed his vision as it always had. But added to those sensations this time was a layer of awareness a
nd control that had been previously absent. An image of Grace and the happiness he experienced with her was embedded in his mind. That gave him a distinct edge over the rage that threatened to take over.

  Instead of lashing out blindly, Tristan used the heat pouring through him to focus. “Put it down, Stannus.”

  “If you think I will allow you to—”

  Before Stannus could finish, Tristan lunged forward, reaching for the knife.

  Stannus wielded his blade more like a cornered animal than a man with skill. Yet he managed to catch Tristan on his upper arm, slicing into flesh.

  Tristan didn’t let that stop him. He grabbed Stannus’s arm with one hand, holding it high. Then he struck the man in the jaw, stunning Stannus and sending him into a bush.

  The other men joined him, grabbing the struggling man. Nathaniel forced him to release the knife. Frost and Langston helped Tristan take him to the ground.

  “Release him!”

  Tristan glanced over his shoulder to see Stannus’s wife standing nearby, wringing her hands as she watched the struggle. Tristan ignored her.

  In moments, Stannus seemed to realize he was outnumbered and ceased his struggles. “How...dare you,” Stannus managed between pants.

  “No.” Tristan shook his head. “How dare you. I gave you a chance to escape both McCarthy and me.”

  Stannus’s eyes widened at the mention of his creditor’s name. At the sound of his wife’s sobs, he closed his eyes. “I’ll be dead before the week’s end.”

  When he heard a soft voice comforting Mrs. Stannus, Tristan looked back to see Grace standing beside her, a sympathetic hand on the crying woman’s shoulder. His gaze met Grace’s and what he saw in her expression caused the pressure in his chest to loosen.

  “Well?” Stannus asked, his tone resigned. “Will you be handing me over to McCarthy now?”

  Tristan released his grip on the man and stood, brushing off his suit coat, wincing at the pain in his arm. “That is up to you.” He withdrew tickets from his inside breast pocket. “You can either be on the ship that leaves at dawn for America, or you can meet McCarthy in Whitechapel. The choice is yours.”

  Mrs. Stannus gasped and hurried forward to snatch the tickets from his hand. She gripped them tightly as she waved them at her husband. “We are leaving on that ship, Charles. Do you hear me? I’ve heard good things about America. You will like it there.”

  Grace stepped into Tristan’s open arms. “Are you all right? What of your arm?”

  “It is nothing.” His world narrowed to the woman in his embrace as his friends led away Stannus and his wife. He cradled Grace’s face in his hands. The happiness shining in her expression reassured him all was well. “I love you.”

  “Oh!” Her exclamation was one of wonder. “Tristan, I love you too.” Tears filled her eyes. “I was so afraid you would believe Samantha and think I was—”

  “Shh.” Tristan kissed her to stop her words. “I know you, Grace. I know exactly who you are. You are the most kind and generous soul in the world, and I am so lucky to know you and love you.”

  Her tears spilled over. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened if you hadn’t rescued me that rainy night.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I think you have it wrong, my dear. You rescued me that night. You saved me from myself, from my past, from who I thought I was.”

  She sighed with contentment as she returned his embrace. “I fear you’re stuck with me.”

  “From this day forward. Forever and always.” He kissed her long and deep, doing all he could to show her how he felt as words seemed inadequate.

  At last he drew back, leaning his forehead against hers. “I promise to strive to be the man you think I am, and to be a father for Matthew. Will you do me the honor of marrying me? You and Matthew?”

  “Yes!” She kissed his lips, his cheeks, his chin, as she repeated the word. “I would be delighted, and I know Matthew will as well.”

  Tristan laughed. “I’m the luckiest man in all of England.”

  Epilogue

  Two Weeks Later

  “What do you think?”

  Grace heard the tension in Tristan’s voice as he asked the question. Unable to resist teasing him, she tilted her head as though studying the large house before them.

  “It’s grand.” The wonder in Matthew’s voice made her smile.

  She leaned forward to look at her son who held Tristan’s other hand. “You were supposed to tell him it wouldn’t do.”

  “I am sorry, Mother,” Matthew said. “I meant to, but look at it.”

  Grace squeezed her husband’s hand. The three-story house with its many rooms was ideal for their project. “It’s perfect. Think of all the people we’ll be helping.”

  The past two weeks had been a whirlwind, and she’d never been happier. When the Dowager Countess of Adair had mentioned that Tristan would lose Crawford House if he didn’t marry by his birthday, Grace had insisted Tristan apply for a special license so they could be married in time to save it.

  Tristan had resisted at first, telling Grace he refused to place such pressure on her. But when Grace had told him how much she loved that house, how she couldn’t bear to lose the home where she’d fallen in love with him, how she looked forward to spending the holidays there, he’d relented.

  “When will it open?” she asked.

  “Stannus’s former butler, Wilby, advises me it will be ready for the first guests next week.”

  “So soon? That is incredible.”

  “Wilby is a former Navy man,” Tristan advised. “His organizational skills are impressive. He was able to hire some of the staff he’d worked with at the Stannus residence.”

  Tristan had found the old mansion on Gray’s Inn Road in disrepair and available for purchase for a modest price. Donations to help support the project had poured in, putting their plans into place much quicker than he and Grace had anticipated.

  “Who gets to stay there?” Matthew asked.

  “Those who have suffered unfortunate circumstances and no longer have a home or a job.” Grace was so proud of Tristan and his efforts.

  “But are trying to obtain both,” Tristan added. “We will do what we can to keep them off the streets. No begging allowed during their stay here, and they will have to show they’re making an effort to stand on their own.”

  Grace leaned around Tristan to look at Matthew. “Will you get the surprise?”

  Her son’s face lit up. He released Tristan’s hand to run back to the carriage.

  “What is all that about?”

  “You’ll see,” Grace said with a smile.

  The footman lifted down a large, cloth-covered board from the back of the carriage while Matthew hopped up and down excitedly.

  “Look. Look,” the boy cried as he led the footman back to Tristan.

  Grace stepped forward to remove the cloth draped over the board. “It’s a sign for the house.”

  “I don’t think I will ever grow used to your thoughtfulness.” Tristan’s smile lit her heart as he read the sign. “Adair House. A Home for Those in Need of Rescue.”

  Before Grace could respond, Tristan wrapped her in his arms and kissed her soundly.

  Grace felt the tug of her son’s hand.

  “Did you forget we are in public?” Matthew asked. He sounded resigned but only slightly disgusted, no doubt because he was growing used to their affectionate displays.

  “Thank you for reminding us,” Tristan said as he reached down to pick him up so both he and Grace could include him in their embrace. “I don’t know what we would do without you.”

  With a grin, Matthew placed an arm around Grace and Tristan. “Don’t forget, I was rescued that night too.”

  “We all were, son,” Tristan agreed, his grey eyes staring into Grace’s. “We all were.”

  “Now we get to live happily ever after, right?” Matthew prodded.

  “Absolutely.” Grace blinked back tears, her heart so f
ull it hurt. “Happily forever.”

  THE END

  Wondering what happened to Miss Flitchard? Turn the page for an exclusive peek at DANCING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, a Novella, the next book in The Seven Curses of London, Available 11/22/16.

  Can one kiss & Christmas magic unite two lonely souls?

  Chapter One

  London, England, December 1870

  Katherine Flemming breathed a sigh of relief as the train pulled away from the station, its whistle blowing a forlorn farewell to the bustling city.

  Farewell to Miss Flitchard, another identity she had now set aside.

  Farewell to her life, once again.

  She closed her eyes, wondering how many more times she’d need to run...to start over. How many more times she’d have the strength of will to do so. Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she opened her eyes to study the other travelers in the crowded compartment, if only to reassure herself she wasn’t being followed.

  At least not yet. For now she was safe.

  He would find her eventually. He always did.

  “Are ye visitin’ family for the holiday?” the cheerful woman sitting beside her asked. A smile lit her face, her warm brown gaze shifting between the two young children between her and Katherine.

  “A friend.” Although Katherine still had a difficult time believing she should call Grace Hawke a friend, as she was the Countess of Adair. Perhaps it had been a mistake to accept the invitation to spend the holidays at the Adairs’ country estate in Northamptonshire, but she didn’t know where else to go. Her options were narrowing each time she had to start over.

  “Oh, that’s lovely. Nothin’ like spendin’ time with friends or family over Christmas.”

  The woman chattered on, sharing her holiday plans. Katherine only caught part of what she said, as her thoughts lingered on her abrupt departure from the dressmaker’s shop where she’d worked for the past six months. No doubt Mrs. Danby, the owner, was cursing her name--or at least the name she’d assumed this time--for leaving without notice.