Nevertheless, at present he was being very assiduous in his attentions. Before the accident, she’d felt hunted. Now she felt courted.
Perhaps Aunt Charity was right and he was going to ask for her hand. If he did, what would she say? She was so very tempted to say yes, but what about Monty’s will, Geoffrey, and the masquerade? She hadn’t even told him she was Honey, let alone Persephone. So many secrets.
Ria sighed. She couldn’t marry him without confessing. But she couldn’t explain what she had done without telling him why. That meant trusting him and putting not only her future in his hands, but the ladies’ too.
Did she trust him that much?
19
The next day, Luc entered the Lyons House estate office where Patrick McDermott was waiting for him. The former pugilist stood as he entered.
Luc sat down at the desk and indicated McDermott should retake the seat opposite. “Any further word on Geoffrey Geoffrey Danielson?”
McDermott gingerly sat back down on the wooden chair, only just managing to squeeze his large frame between the arms. “Yes, my lord. I’ve been watching him as you asked. Hardly let him out of my sight until today. When he’s not at his house, he’s been at the inn, drinking and gambling heavily. Only been to the manor the once, and I got word to you about that.”
“Have you heard any interesting gossip?”
McDermott nodded slowly. “He’s let most of the servants go. There’s just an old couple left who do everything. When I heard that, I thought it might pay to do a bit of investigating inside, so I slipped in one night.”
He exchanged grins with Luc. “I expected to find the house had been stripped. Figured he let the servants go to save money. I was right in that there wasn’t anything there of value but not because it’s been recently stripped. You’d usually see marks on the walls where pictures had been removed, that sort of thing, but there’s nothing like that. Looking at the furniture and everything, I suspect there’s never been anything of value there. Not for a very long time. Used it as a place to send all their old stuff, I think.”
“So you didn’t find anything of use.”
McDermott’s lips stretched into a wide smile. “Depends on what you reckon is of use, my lord. I can tell you for a fact he is in debt. One of the drawers in his desk held a large pile of papers. Turned out they were bills—lots of bills going back a fair while. Also vowels—from the number, he’s got a bad gambling habit. I only got as far as the first drawer. Heard someone coming, so I had to scarper, and I can’t tell you the amount, but it was a lot.”
McDermott scratched his head. “Apart from that, well, no one comes to visit. Danielson doesn’t seem to have any friends. Even those he meets in the inn don’t seem that friendly with him. Goes to the taproom, you see, so not his sort of people. Just drinks and gambles with whoever is there, no one in particular. Mostly loses too. I can’t hardly ever remember seeing a worse gambler.”
McDermott shifted on his seat, moving forward slightly. “He’s leaving for London this morning. Told the old people he won’t be back for a week or two. Do you want me to go to London?”
“It will be interesting to see what he does there. His movements could prove quite telling.” Luc tapped his fingers on the desk. “Can your brother watch him in London?”
McDermott nodded.
“Then stay here and await Danielson’s return. In the meantime, you can continue to investigate his activities here and keep an eye on the ladies at the manor.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll let Liam know. He will do a fine job.”
Luc was certain he would. McDermott’s younger brother was also a former boxer. Since their retirement, they handled delicate jobs for a very select client list drawn primarily from London’s ton.
Luc had yet to figure out how they were able to blend into the background and be invisible when the occasion warranted it. Although not tall, they were very well-built men. Patrick McDermott’s broken nose should also have made him memorable, but somehow people just didn’t seem to notice.
Leaving the estate office, he pondered Danielson’s absence. His going to London was convenient as there was only so much business Luc could attend to from a distance. There were pressing business matters in the capital he needed to see to but hadn’t wanted to leave Ria. He could also check on his solicitor’s investigation into Danielson.
He gave a heavy sigh. It would be so much easier if Ria would tell him what was going on. He could think of only one reason that she hadn’t. His stomach clenched as he finally admitted the truth to himself.
She didn’t trust him.
It hurt. A lot. But he couldn’t blame her. Not with his past behavior.
He walked into his bedchamber where his valet was putting shirts into one of the drawers. “Mitchell, we are going to London on the morrow.”
“Very good, my lord.”
In the open drawer, he caught sight of Persephone’s garter. She’d left it behind in her rush to leave. He picked it up and lifted it to his nose. There was still a faint trace of lavender. After one last glance, he tossed it aside.
With a small tsk his valet picked it up. “What shall I do with this, my lord?”
“Dispose of it.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Without a backward glance, Luc left the room.
20
London, February 1814
Looking out at the London street from his town house window, Luc could hardly believe it was only a week since he had left Little Bridgeton. It seemed longer. But his business affairs were now in order. There was nothing to keep him in town.
During the day he had conducted business, while most evenings he’d gone to White’s where he caught up with those of his acquaintance who were at the club. Most of his friends were out of town, but there were still enough around for him to have an entertaining time. If that was what he’d wanted.
He always had a pleasant enough time at his club, but whenever they’d left to go elsewhere, he had declined and gone home. To bed. Alone.
He knew why. Now he had to decide what to do about it.
He left the room and had just reached the foot of the stairs when the front door knocker sounded.
As the door opened, he stifled a groan.
His mother, a gentleman following behind her, swept into the entry hall. “My beautiful son, good afternoon.”
The butler helped her remove her fur-trimmed velvet pelisse and draped it over the outstretched arms of a waiting footman. Carelessly she dropped her red-beaded reticule on top of the coat.
“Mother.” He welcomed his mother and nodded at her companion. “Banbridge.”
The young fop nervously nodded back. “It’s an honor, my lord.”
Noting the boy’s extravagant dress, he couldn’t resist making an observation, “What an elaborate cravat.”
Mistaking his comment for a compliment, the young man responded enthusiastically. “Yes, my lord. It’s a Mathematical. Took me nine cravats and two hours to tie, but I finally got it right.” He then ingenuously offered, after looking at the earl’s plain black coat and simply-tied cravat, “I could show you if you like.”
The sound of tapping drew their attention back to Luc’s mother—the sound was coming from one of her small feet, elegantly shod in a fine, silk-trimmed, red leather slipper.
He smiled inwardly. One certain way to irritate his mother was to ignore her presence, even if only for a moment.
Seeing she had their attention, she turned to her companion and said, “Andrew, be a dear and pick up my new bonnet from Mrs. Bell. I will meet you at Rundell and Bridge’s. They have a particularly fine ruby necklace.”
At his hesitation, she drew her rosebud lips into a pout. “You will do this for me, won’t you, my dear?” As she spoke, she brought up one hand to her bosom, drawing the young man’s notice to her cleavage, accentuated rather than hidden by the scandalously tiny scrap of lace meant to make the gown more modest for day wear.
Luc w
atched, a small smile curving his lips as the young man blushed scarlet and tore his gaze away from the bounty spread before him. Banbridge hastily bid them both farewell and left on this important mission for his goddess. As he departed, Luc wondered how the young man managed to move his head wearing such an impossibly high collar.
Once again the sound of a small foot tapping on his black-and-white marble floor drew his attention back to his mother.
As soon as he looked at her, she turned and walked into the drawing room. Luc was tempted not to follow just to see what she would do, but quelling that imp of mischief, he went after her.
Beatrice swept back her skirts and sat on the silk-damask-covered settee. She patted the seat beside her, looking at her son expectantly. He ignored her obvious invitation and instead sprawled in the matching Chippendale chair opposite.
She didn’t react to his snub apart from a small moue of dissatisfaction. At the sight of her pout, he lifted one eyebrow in query, which was enough to stem any further reaction.
“To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Mother?”
“You know I prefer you to call me Beatrice.”
The best way to make his mother get to the point was to raise a subject she would not want to discuss. Luc asked, “Didn’t you amuse yourself with that young pup’s father years ago?”
Beatrice gave him a small frown. Flicking open her ivory and silk fan, she said, “Possibly. But I didn’t come here to discuss such matters.”
“So why did you come, Mother?”
“I came to visit my son. Must I have a reason?”
Luc returned to the topic of her companion. “Which one of Banbridge’s sons is he?”
The frown reappeared, and the fan was waved more vigorously. “I have no idea.”
In a conversational tone, he idly mused, “Banbridge has six sons, doesn’t he? It could be quite convenient. When you tire of this Banbridge, you can go onto the next one. That way you won’t have to remember their names, you can just call them all Banbridge.”
The fan closed with a snap. Ignoring his comment, she told him, “I have been to see that silly little man, and would you believe he will not give me an advance on my allowance.”
“I assume you mean our solicitor, Pemberton?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I was not sure, you understand, because of your use of the word silly. Pemberton is a very able, intelligent man.”
He very nearly smiled as his mother frowned at him, her act slipping just a trifle. But almost instantly, her face resumed its normal pleasant, albeit blank, expression. Frowning, after all, was so unattractive and gave one lines.
“As I was saying, that silly”—at a glance from Luc she corrected herself—“that man refuses to give me an advance. How am I to possibly manage?”
“At the risk of stating the obvious, you could purchase fewer dresses.”
Beatrice looked truly appalled—the first genuine emotion she had shown so far. “He suggested a similar thing! And that I should purchase less costly ones! As if I could possibly do that! As it is, I am buying only the barest essentials. I don’t expect him to understand, but you should.” She cast an eye over her son’s attire; unlike her young companion, she recognized quality when she saw it. “That coat is from Weston’s if I am not mistaken. He isn’t cheap.”
Beatrice resumed fanning herself vigorously. “Why, next the two of you will be suggesting I wear the same gowns twice! I have a reputation to uphold. People look to me to lead fashion.”
“You sent Banbridge out to pick up a hat for you. How many hats do you already have, mother?”
“The number is beside the point. I bought a new blue silk walking dress, and of course I need a hat to match.”
“And the ruby necklace?”
His mother gave him a coy smile. “I doubt the account for that will be sent to me. Andrew is such a dear boy.”
He watched the expressions flit across her face. Beatrice was nothing if not predictable—to him, at least. Years of watching her try to manipulate his father when he was growing up had made him an expert in his mother’s ploys.
“I really do need an advance. I have horrid tradesmen dunning me. How dare they? The audacity. They are actually demanding I pay them!” His mother looked genuinely shocked at the actions of the tradesmen.
There was a knock on the door, and his butler appeared carrying a tray with two glasses and a bottle of wine. Cynically, he saw it was one of the best his cellar contained.
Seeing him looking at it, Beatrice responded to his unspoken question. “I took the liberty of asking Evans to bring us wine.” She picked up a glass from the tray proffered by the butler. “I am sure you don’t have any objection to your mother refreshing herself.”
He merely looked at her, so she continued, “Actually I was thinking”—she paused and took a sip of wine—“it seems silly for us to have two households. I believe I should live here and act as your hostess.”
Luc was surprised. Not by the offer but that it had taken her so long to make it. His father had been dead for a few years. It had taken her longer than he’d thought to realize this was a way to avoid paying for the upkeep of her own expensive establishment.
His residence was larger, had more well-trained servants to be at her beck and call, and—he took a sip of the twelve-year-old claret Evans handed him—more expensive wine.
And it wouldn’t cramp her style since she’d got into the habit of conducting her affaires at the lodgings of her lovers and continued to do so after the death of her husband.
He often wondered why his father set things up the way he had, with their solicitor taking care of her finances rather than Luc and with Beatrice having a townhouse of her own in London. Perhaps his father had been protecting him. His lips twisted. Unlikely, but that left the question. Why?
With a slight smile, he told her, “Of course, it would also mean you could spend more money at your modistes.”
Beatrice looked at him, her expression horrified, “That never crossed my mind. All I was thinking of was you in this large house on your own without a hostess. Plus I can help in other ways.”
She gestured at the room with her fan. “Take this room, for instance. It is looking distressingly out of date. I would not expect you to notice the faded wallpaper, but a woman sees these things.”
He looked around the room. The Chinese hand-painted wallpaper with its design of flowers and birds on a green background looked as clear and vivid as the day it had been hung. He raised an eyebrow at his mother.
Beatrice fanned herself. “I would have thought you would welcome your mother with open arms. Is it really so hard to believe I am thinking of you? I am, after all, your mother.”
If his mother hadn’t been an aristocrat, she could have gone on the stage—and would have been a great success. Come to think of it, Beatrice and actresses had a lot in common.
Luc drawled, “I find myself wondering where all this maternal feeling has come from. You are, after all, the one who called her baby Lucifer. Scarcely the act of a doting mother.”
Beatrice waved her hand in the air. Airily dismissing the act, he thought sardonically, that had helped make his childhood, appropriately enough, hell.
“I wasn’t myself. Childbirth was difficult for me, and I wasn’t thinking properly.”
The most surprising thing to Luc about this latest encounter with his mother was how little it bothered him. He recognized her for what she was and did not care. She no longer had power over him. A tide of relief swept over him and when it receded left behind a lightness of spirit.
It was because of Ria. And the ladies at the manor. He bit his lip to stop himself from smiling.
In the past few weeks, they had made him part of their family. He now had people to care for and look after. People who seemed to be genuinely fond of him. People who were not interested merely in what he could give them.
At the sound of a foot tapping, he turned his attention back to his mot
her.
“Thank you for the kind thought, Beatrice.” At his using her given name for the very first time in his life, her eyes widened. “But I must decline.”
Holding up his hand as she was about to object, he continued, “Send the bills to me, and I will pay them. Though I only do so because it is not fair the tradesmen should lose due to your excesses.”
Beatrice gaped at him, her surprise at his giving in so quickly evident. It didn’t take her long to gather her wits, however, and a sly expression crept into her green eyes as she said, “Darling, I wouldn’t want them to bother you. If you were to give me the money, I could pay them.”
“I will pay them,” he said firmly.
Walking to the settee, he said, “I do believe Banbridge will be waiting for you. Don’t let me keep you.”
Not giving her time to respond, he helped her rise, escorted her to the entry hall, assisted her with her pelisse and reticule, and said goodbye.
As he reentered the drawing room, he smiled at the memory of the bewildered expression on his mother’s face.
At the sound of a throat clearing, he turned. His butler stood near the door, the tray holding the empty wineglasses in his hands. “Will you be dining in this evening, my lord?”
Idly he considered going to White’s. Perhaps a game of cards would relieve his boredom.
Sighing, he wondered what Ria was doing. At this time of day, she would normally be in the library with the other ladies. Time to return to Little Bridgeton, he thought.
“Yes, I will dine in tonight, and tomorrow I am returning to Little Bridgeton.”
Striding from the drawing room, he entered his study, unlocked a drawer in the desk and removed a small blue box. Tucking it into his pocket, he left the room to find his valet and instruct him to begin packing.
21
Little Bridgeton, February 1814
Dangerous Masquerade Page 14