Wild Lavender

by Lynne Connolly

  Lamaire found a seat on one of the other chairs, considerately taking a place where everyone could see him.

  “Do I understand that you sent him to me last year?”

  Tom nodded. “I told you I had a man on the scene. I needed to find the daughter of the Young Pretender before he did. The Pretender would have killed her.”

  “I see. And you do not wish for that?”

  Tom turned his lip in a sneer. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

  “A political one.”

  “And a mortal one. I can stomach no more killing.” He’d told his father exactly the same thing. Whether Winterton understood it or not, that, for Tom, was the crux of the matter. “My father and I see family loyalty slightly differently.”

  “Is there a rift between father and son?” The inquiry sounded gentle.

  Tom laughed derisively. “There has been ever since the old man ordered the son to turn back at Calais in the forty-five. He considers that his son took the Regency under false pretenses. Unfortunately the son has his own allies now. In public, and to their supporters, they do their best to present a united face.”

  “Then I take it you are no longer devoted to their cause?”

  Tom took his time considering the question. If he answered, how much information would that give the family who were still his family’s enemies? He glanced at Helena. Enemies no more, although he did not know what to call them now. However, he was not about to throw away every scrap of information in his possession. That way he would lose any usefulness and every edge he had. “I never was. In case you had not noticed, I have been trying to rebuild my family’s wealth and reputation.”

  “Very successfully, by all accounts,” Winterton drawled. He might appear at ease, but he was far from it.

  Accustomed to observing opponents and allies closely, Tom had noted the tiny signs on Winterton a long time ago. His pupils dilated very slightly, for one thing. In someone with eyes as dark as Tom’s own, that sign would barely be noticeable, but Winterton possessed pale blue eyes, and every shade was instantly apparent. If Tom offered any objections, Winterton would react. Tom could not blame him. Under this roof were the people who mattered most in the world to him. Tom would be edgy if Winterton had walked into his house, which he had a time or two.

  “The Stuarts are, as always, their own worst enemies,” Tom said. “If Prince Henry had not turned Cardinal, or if Prince Charles had married ten years ago and sired a healthy nursery full of children, their prospects would be much rosier. We both know that. They have a dwindling influence on world affairs, but that is fading as Europe realigns itself. We both know that too.”

  “War is coming,” Winterton said, as if speaking of the weather.

  “I know.” Tom would have to be a fool if he hadn’t noticed the subtle and not-so-subtle political maneuverings that were the precursor to a new conflict. He had made certain preparations against the event and realigned his own investments. He would not take odds against Winterton having done the same. But they were not here to discuss international politics. Not today, at any rate. He tilted his head to one side. “This war, however, will have little to do with the affairs of the Stuarts.”

  “You are not eaten up with a desire for justice? In my experience, most Jacobites use that as a reason for their continued allegiance.”

  Tom huffed a laugh. “Idealists, you mean? Spare me idealists, please. Some have resigned themselves to having lost everything at home, so they have nothing else to lose. Others are more interested in what they can lever for themselves. The idealists involved in the Cause are invariably disappointed.” He changed position, crossing his ankle over his knee. “At the moment, revenge is uppermost in my mind. Everslade has disappeared. I knew I should have killed him while I had the opportunity.” He had just revealed his own propensity to fidget when he was agitated, but Winterton would surely know that.

  “Perhaps you should have, but that would have branded you a possible murderer in the eyes of the public.” Winterton placed his empty tea-dish in its saucer with precision but without looking. A casual reminder of his talents, as if Tom needed reminding of them. He had talents too, not all of them on blatant display.

  Tom spared a glance at Helena and caught her looking at him. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said softly.

  He bowed his head, smiling, as if he had offered her some small service. “Think nothing of it. Of course I did.” In everything but words, he let her know he cared for her. Just not how much.

  She glanced down at her book, as if surprised to discover it still there. Gently, she closed it and set it aside, concentrating on laying it down, as if she was anxious not to meet his gaze.

  “I sent a man to the inn the next morning,” Winterton said.

  Tom tore his eyes away from her and back to his host.

  “Everslade complained loudly about his hurts. The landlord reluctantly permitted him to stay, but he slipped away in the night. I assume because he was afraid he might be found out.” Winterton glanced at his sister, his gaze grave. “I owe my sister a deep apology. It appears the man we knew as Lord Everslade may not have been the right one.” He turned his attention back to Tom. “In short, he was an impostor.”

  “The devil, you say!” Tom got to his feet and paced before the window before taking his seat again. Devil take it, why had he not thought of that? “How did I miss that?”

  “You investigated him?” Helena demanded in a voice of great horror.

  “Yes, of course. Why would I not? He arrived back in town a month ago and showed you distinctive attention from the start. I could tell he was making a play for you, so yes, I had him investigated.”

  “And what did you find?” Winterton drawled.

  He was showing more of his hand than he’d intended. But the deed was done now, and he would not reveal his error. “I presume you investigated too. Everslade is an earl living in the north of England. He has no siblings. His mother adored him and rarely allowed him out of her sight, but he got away this autumn.”

  Winterton nodded. “That more or less matches what I discovered. Everslade is also wealthy, due to the number of coal mines on his modest estate. He has not been back there for a number of years. Five, to be precise. Before that, he was assiduous in the management of his estate. Local opinion has it that his mother’s death sent him away. I am not so sure. None of his servants have worked for him for more than five years. His behavior has changed utterly in the last five years. He seeks the most vicious pleasures where before he was gentle and considerate. He dresses well, where he used to be almost slovenly with his costume. From the descriptions I have, some extremely detailed, we could be talking about two separate men. Even the color of his hair has changed.”

  “Indeed.” His stomach churned, as he took in what Winterton was telling him. “Do you know who he was?”

  Winterton shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “I may know something,” Lamaire said.

  The damned man sat so quietly, Tom had nearly forgotten he was there. He had brought him because of his involvement in the affair, but he had not expected any extra information to come from him.

  But now he dug his hand into his pocket and came out with a crumpled piece of paper. “I had little time before we were interrupted, but if you recall, sir, I had a brief golden moment with the man we knew as Lord Everslade.”

  Tom took the paper and listened to Everslade. He glanced at the writing as the man spoke. What he saw made him stiffen in alarm.

  “He shot at me, but his preparations were clumsy, and the attack was easy to evade. I shot at him, but I fear my aim was not true. I was facing the stairs and concerned any stray shot would hit the wrong person.” A wicked grin flitted over his mouth. “So I used the butt of my pistol instead. It served its purpose. After that, I had a moment, thanks to you, my lord, when I could search him. The man was wearing nothing but a banyan. Apart from a few personal items, I discovered
this.” He nodded in the direction of the note.

  Tom read the brief note aloud. “I must charge you to adhere to our agreement. I will send you details of the person in the next dispatch.” He looked up. “That is all it says, but it is not all this note tells me. It’s execrably spelled, and whoever wrote it has a spider’s scrawl. One that I know.”

  “I see.” Winterton held out his hand.

  Lamaire got to his feet, took the note from Tom, and handed it to his erstwhile master, who gave him a long considering look.

  “Work for me, and I will pay you double what Lord Alconbury does.”

  “I thank you, sir. I will bear your offer in mind.” Lamaire bowed.

  “Not many people fool me so convincingly,” Winterton said, turning his attention to the note. “Ah, yes. Our mutual acquaintance.” He closed his eyes.

  Tom knew they were thinking the same thing, and controlling themselves just as rigidly.

  “The Pretender. The younger, I believe.”

  “His father has the better hand but never puts such sensitive information in writing,” Tom murmured. He flicked another glance at Helena and caught her watching him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I should never have allowed the man past my inspection. I cannot believe he fooled us both.”

  “Neither can I,” Winterton said grimly. “I believe I will send for Everslade’s servants, the ones who knew him in his youth. I will send them a generous remuneration.”

  “You will allow me to add to that sum,” Tom said, his hands clenching in frustration.

  Winterton looked up. “You did not know that this unknown person was an agent of the Young Pretender’s?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I see no ‘of course’ about the matter. You could have fallen out with him. A spy in the top echelons of society would prove useful if you were prosecuting the interests of the Stuarts.”

  Tom made a sound of derision at the back of his throat. “And how do you suppose I would set a spy there? How did this man gain the title? As far as I could ascertain, the true Everslade had no interest in the Stuarts, and neither did his family. That is a considerable and foolish risk.”

  “Unless the true Everslade is dead,” Winterton said softly.

  Helena’s small gasp made both men turn to her, but she had recovered her calm demeanor by the time they had her under observation. But with the eyes of an erstwhile lover, Tom saw her complexion pale, and her eyes widen.

  “Do you truly think the man who abducted me had killed a man?”

  “Yes,” Winterton said. “He could have done so.”

  Tom refused to allow anyone to distress Helena in that way. He got to his feet, only pausing when he reminded himself that he had no right to claim her as he wished. But he could tell her the truth.

  He would not tell brother and sister that they had gained another brother. He could not bear to have Helena upset in the presence of anyone else. So soon after her distressing ordeal, how could he pile even more bad news on her head?

  He could not. The secret was still his to bear. He would wait until a more propitious time.

  “I wish to speak to Lord Alconbury alone,” she said, her voice firm. She met Winterton’s gaze. “I have something particular to ask him.”

  Winterton’s calculating stare went from his sister to Tom and back again. “I have to trust him with you because of his signal service on Monday, but I cannot leave you alone for long.”

  Helena snorted. “Because of the proprieties?”

  “Even more so now,” Winterton said softly, and turned his attention to Tom. “You understand?”

  “Nobody better.” If he did but know it, Tom had as much at stake here as Winterton did. Helena would not suffer publicly because of this. “I take it you have a story to cover the incident?”

  “Helena tells me you kept her face hidden.” Winterton sighed. “Her hair, however, is one of her most distinctive features. Stories are already circulating. I have not yet met them with an outright lie, but I fear I will have to devise something soon. I have said she was visiting a sick relative on Monday, but that might not serve. I will need to strengthen the tale, but Helena will not allow it.”

  Rumors were vicious things. They could undeservedly ruin a blameless reputation. Helena must allow them to work to regain her good name. Otherwise, despite her family’s connections and their influence, the rumors would never die.

  “I have a story, but I need to speak to Lord Alconbury to obtain his agreement,” Helena said calmly.

  Winterton sighed heavily. “You have fifteen minutes. I cannot allow more. I will take myself off and consult Lamaire about a new coat I bought last week. I value his taste.”

  And no doubt, work even harder to poach him. Tom was almost sure he would not succeed, but he did not like Lamaire going off with him. He should never have allowed the man to display his considerable skills to one of the finest arbiters of fashion London had to offer. He would sacrifice even Lamaire for the chance of ten minutes alone with Helena. He had been granted fifteen, so he was more than recompensed.

  The door closed and silence fell. Tom, accepting he was a besotted fool, could watch her for all that time, but he must make the most of the minutes he had with her.

  She folded her hands neatly in her lap. Ruthlessly, Tom squashed the notion of laying his head there.

  “If my reputation is ruined, my mother will insist on me returning to her side,” Helena said, her voice slightly higher pitched than normal. “I will spend the rest of my life pandering to her needs. Julius is in the process of settling an annuity on me. I had planned to buy a Thames-side villa, find a convenient relative who needs a home, and spend my time in genteel seclusion. I was almost looking forward to it. I believed you did not care for me, or that you had decided against allying yourself to your enemies.”

  He would have spoken, but she held up her hand to stop him. It was not entirely steady. She returned it to her lap.

  “Recent events have suggested to me that I was wrong. Oh, I don’t doubt that you would have done everything in your power to rescue me. You’re a chivalrous man. If Julius does not know that, I certainly do.”

  She closed her eyes, but as he rose from his chair, she shook her head and he subsided once more.

  “Helena…”

  She continued as if he had said nothing. “But to call me your darling when you thought I was asleep, and to hold me all the way back to London? You would not have done that if I had been another woman. Therefore, I have a solution, at least to the suggestion that my reputation might finally be in tatters.”

  “You know I’ll do anything to help you.”

  “Then be my husband again, and do it in public. If we are seen together in an out-of-the-way country inn, what of that? We are married, so nobody will think it odd. That you wanted to take me away when a drunken fracas ensued? That too.”

  He closed his eyes, agony wringing his guts. “Anything but that.”

  Now her expression was anything but serene. The mask dropped away, leaving a distressed vital woman beneath. “Why not? Why have you so carefully kept away from me? So much that I thought your initial passion for me was mistaken and you regretted your actions.”

  “I do, but not because of that.”

  “Then why make both of us miserable? Why not face our families and have done?” She gripped her hands together until the knuckles whitened; tears sparkled in her eyes.

  “You’re killing me, Helena. I cannot see you so distressed.”

  “Then go, like the coward you are, and leave me to grieve.” She shook her head. “No, don’t. You have been doing that for the past five years, have you not? Why?”

  He swallowed. He would have to confess some of the truth. “Because to tell you the truth would distress you even more.”

  “Our marriage is legal. I made sure of it, and I have a copy of the certificate.”

  He had thought of claiming that and then destro
ying what records he could bribe out of the Fleet or steal from it, but he had put off the task until, it appeared, he’d left it too late. Why had he not already done that?

  Because he did not want the truth to be real. He didn’t want to lose the one connection to the woman he would always love. Where did he begin?

  “Will you not just accept that our marriage is not valid?”

  “No. If I marry anyone else, I will always have that certificate in my keeping. I will know that I am doing my husband a deep disservice and that my children with anyone but you must be illegitimate. How can I burden anyone else with that?” She bit her lip before adding, “I have not met another man I am desirous of marrying. Not after you.”

  Tom groaned and put his head in his hands. “Helena, what am I to do with you?”

  “I already told you.”

  “Not that. We cannot.” There was no hope for it; he would have to tell her the truth. But not here and not now. Winterton would send a servant in far too soon, and the truth would distress Helena even more. He lifted his head. “If I prove to your satisfaction that a forbidden level of consanguinity lies between us, will you then leave this matter alone?”

  Her eyes widened. Why in heaven’s name had he given voice to the word that had haunted him day and night? But it was done. She brought far more out of him than he meant to say. Tom was notoriously close-mouthed when he wished to be. Nobody pried secrets from him, but he was babbling like a baby now. He clamped his mouth shut and waited for her response.

  “Yes.” She folded her arms, the lace at her elbows falling over her pale skin. “Prove it beyond doubt.”

  “Not here. Will you risk your reputation one more time? Come to the house a week from now.”

  She shook her head. “No. I will not go another week until I know. Thursday.”

  “But you are only just recovering from your ordeal.” He could not lay another on her so soon.

  “Next Thursday. At eleven. I will, however, bring a coach and footmen, so the visit will not be covert. I cannot cause my brother such distress as to give my protectors the slip.”

  So the house in Folgate Street would no longer be a secret. He would accept that. He had other establishments, but none as precious as this one. He never used it, never allowed anyone else to use it, but kept it maintained. After next Thursday they could both move on and the house could become something else, instead of a mausoleum to events that should never have occurred in the first place. “Very well. Then I might make you a gift of the house, to use as you will.”