by Julia Donner
Asterly looked away, fussed with the fringe on a pillow near his hand. “We made promises. If Mrs. Merrick wishes you to know, we are obliged to allow her to tell you.”
Before Freddy could continue to pry, Crimm entered. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord. I’ve received some unsettling news.” When Asterly immediately stood, Crimm added, “It does not regard Lady Asterly.”
Crimm slid a suggestive glance in Freddy’s direction and Asterly said, “You may say whatever you like in front of Lord Grieves.”
Freddy stood when Crimm came further into the room to explain. “It involves Mrs. Merrick. Questions are being asked about her.”
The premonition Freddy had felt earlier returned in force. “What sort of questions, Crimm?”
“To ascertain her whereabouts, my lord.”
Asterly asked, “Were they Bow Street?”
Crimm replied, “It is my impression that they meant themselves to appear like said officials. It was a matter of a moment to dispatch a message to verify if they were imposters or affiliated with Bow Street. I immediately doubted that they were. Officers would apply directly to you and not attempt to ask questions at the back door. They do not worry me as much as the others.”
“Others?” Freddy demanded, his concern escalating. Why had he wasted time dallying with flirtation, when he should have paid more attention to the underlying cause of Evangeline’s actions? Anger at his behavior warred with a growing fear. “Crimm, how long has this sort of thing been going on?”
The butler again looked to Asterly, who gave permission with a nod. “Lord Grieves, occurrences of persons seeking her have become more common for the last year. Someone is putting forth a decided effort to locate her. An error made on my part may be the reason for discovering her whereabouts.”
When Asterly and Freddy stayed silent. Crimm continued, “Two months past. Mrs. Merrick asked me to sell some items, family heirlooms. I counseled her against it, but she insisted. I believe the sale led a trail to our doorstep.”
Crimm said nothing more, but his stare spoke clearly enough, prompting Asterly to say, “I agree that it’s time to take steps. Have one of the smaller, enclosed coaches made ready. Do not drive it out of the mews. Have it brought to the back entrance. Freddy, come with me.”
Chapter 8
Evangeline ignored the luncheon tray set on the drop-leaf table near the window. Guilt had stolen her appetite, even though she’d left off eavesdropping before the men finished their conversation. She had started to feel betrayal that Lord Asterly would speak about her until she heard his guarded replies about her situation. Two points of common sense brought her jumbled emotions into line. She trusted the Asterlys, and not to do so, after all they had done for her and Ned, would be nothing less than ungrateful.
She stayed on the sitting room couch with a jewel case on her lap. Handling its contents always brought equal measures of peace and heartache. The ritual of inspecting the items inside had become more than habit. No day passed without the comforting enactment.
She smoothed her palm over the inlaid wood and mother-of-pearl designs on the lid. She lifted the key chain of finely-wrought gold links from her bodice. A gentle snick sounded the opening of the lock. Cocooned in the familiar company of her favorite memories, she sank into the routine of sorting through the contents.
First came the embroidered silk cap, then his folded baptismal documents, the slender pouches that held a golden curl and a silver teething ring—all the memories of the short time she’d had with her baby before he was hidden away to be cared for by others. These items comforted the bad memory, the one where she had to hold herself in check while handing over her child. The echoes of the wrenching sobs she later cried in private were impossible to silence. Lonely years had passed too slowly, the endless waiting for the random opportunities to see him again, so rare and fleeting, her heart crushing each time they had to separate.
A board in the passage creaked, warning her of someone’s approach. Swift and careful, she replaced the items and locked the lid. An upstairs maid came into the sitting room just as she dropped the key down the front of her dress.
Evangeline twisted sideways on the couch to place the memory box on the side table, as the maid said, “Ma’am, Lord Asterly begs to speak with you.”
“Please ask him to come in, then you may leave.”
She stood and curtsied as he swept into the room. Alarm tightened her chest when she saw his expression. “What is it, my lord?”
He took both her hands. “The time has come, I’m afraid. You must leave immediately.”
Evangeline glanced at Grieves standing in the doorway. She whispered, “Have they found out about Ned?”
“There’s no way to know that yet, but since they’ve become more persistent, we could assume they do. What is important is that they don’t find you. Without you, they have no way of discovering where he is. It’s better if they seek you instead.”
“Do I have time to send a message?”
“That is precisely what they wish. When you don’t, they’ll come after you.”
She said through stiff lips, “Sir, there is no force on earth that could make me reveal where he is.”
Asterly squeezed her fingers. “Evangeline, there are methods for wresting information from people that have nothing to do with physical torture. Determined people have their ways and will not stop until they have their pound of flesh or packet of money.”
She studied Asterly’s concerned frown. Panic had caused her to question her trust of this extraordinary man, who would most certainly know what to do. He’d spied for his country, spent many years away at war, and had the confidence of the nation’s most powerful and important men. It wasn’t difficult to come to a decision.
Evangeline accepted his advice with a nod. “You know these things better than I. What do you suggest?”
“A carriage waits in the mews to take you out of the city. They will hear me say you’re needed at Marshfield. At the first posting inn, leave the carriage, as if you are staying the night. Crimm will have sent someone ahead of you to arrange for rooms, but you will get in another carriage and go to Rolands. The carriage left at the posting inn will go to Marshfield the next morning, but by then, you’ll be safely on Harry’s estate. It wouldn’t be wise to send word ahead to Rolands, but they know you and Grieves.”
She scowled up at Asterly and softly protested, “Lord Grieves?”
“Be sensible, ma’am. Harry and Olivia are on the Continent. Rave and Cass have gone to Ravencourt with the children. With the exception of Crimm, there is no other man I trust more.”
Evangeline leaned closer to whisper, “What about Bainbridge?”
“I’ve no idea where he is, and this must be done now. Don’t hesitate, Evangeline. Your son’s uncle has the law on his side. Perhaps it’s fortunate that I can’t leave town at present. I’ll take measures to safeguard you from legal consequences, but there’s nothing I can do to protect your son. Now hurry. Don’t bother with luggage. Something from Olivia’s wardrobe can be devised.”
She nodded and rushed into the bedchamber. She collected a hooded cloak and a tapestry knitting bag. She dumped the bag’s contents on the coverlet and returned to the sitting room. Crimm was there, helping Grieves into a caped, driving coat. Asterly draped the cloak around her shoulders, while she slid the memory box into the knitting bag and knotted it shut. She tied the raised hood into place as they hurried down the servant steps and out to the mews.
Chapter 9
Sullen clouds gathered overhead, as if to hasten the carriage southward. The increasing gloom plummeted Evangeline’s hopes for an uneventful journey. When she’d climbed into the chaise, she overheard the coachman mutter to Lord Grieves that his lumbago ached. He feared it meant a winter squall would blow inland from the channel.
Grieves said little after leaving Cavendish Square, preferring to stare out the window at the darkening sky. His face gave away nothing as to the content of his thoughts, his e
xpression as taciturn as the weather outside.
Discomfort prompted her to say, “Thank you, Lord Grieves. This is an imposition.”
He left off staring at the countryside and directed his attention to her. The crystalline blue of his gaze revealed nothing.
She attempted to break down his chilly barrier. “Sir, I did not mean for you to become embroiled in my problems. Please feel free to return to London at the posting inn. I can make my way to Rolands easily enough.”
“I have no doubt that you could, ma’am, but as surly as I may be, the gentleman’s code does not allow me to leave you and prompts an apology for entrapping you in here with my disobliging mood.”
“You have reason, sir. There will be an awkwardness forthcoming due to your absence at your cousin’s funeral.”
“Doubtful. He was universally disliked. Even his widow has stated that she doesn’t plan to attend.” He returned his gaze to the view passing by the window. “His remains will be taken north for burial beside his first wife.”
“I see.”
When he jerked his sharp-eyed stare back at her, she somehow understood that the anger within was directed at himself and not at her. “No, Evangeline, you do not see. It’s almost farcical. I’ve been brought down by an irony, having been granted what I sought for months.” When she raised her eyebrows with a silent question, he answered, “Private audience with you.”
The intensity of his stare made her press back into the squabs. With a one-sided smile, he said, “I have convinced myself that I must not act on my baser impulses.”
Evangeline didn’t consider their attraction as a baser part of their natures. Right now, its force crowded the confined space. Images born of overheard conversations—of what happened in enclosed carriages when there was no other place for lovers to meet—overwhelmed her vision. Her parents had taught her to not feel shame or embarrassment for natural urges, but their strict moral code was an impediment. She blinked to dispel mental pictures that evolved to include herself and Grieves. Deeply ingrained strictures had begun to fray under the influence of so much temptation.
Her thoughts were jolted back from the impossible, when Grieves said, “Your expression isn’t helping, Evangeline. I suggest that conversation will provide a distraction from the too obvious. Will you do me the courtesy of explaining why you must engage in a clandestine, hurried flight from Cavendish and Asterly’s protection?”
She licked her lips and found her voice. “That is only fair.”
He stared at her mouth and said nothing. while she collected her courage and thoughts. Asterly was right. Grieves was doing her a great favor. While she was in the company of the best marksman in the country, her brother-in-law would hesitate to accost or take her against her will. Furthermore, now that he’d come into title, Grieves would be wooed by House of Lords members to join their factions. He’d become part of the power wielded by the aristocracy. Something within assured her that he would use his influence in her behalf if she should need to ask. She must respect his present and future gestures with her trust.
Secrecy had become habit, but the time had come when she needed all the allies she could muster. An inner voice urged her to confide in this particular person, a man who kept himself aloof from the world, but not from his friends. She admired and envied the men’s easy camaraderie and staunch support of each other.
She lifted her chin. “I have a son, my lord. I’ve hidden his existence from his family, who are socially and financially powerful. More precisely, I’ve hidden my son from his legal guardian, his uncle.”
He frowned at her for a moment. “Why would anyone hide from family? I never got on well with my father but certainly respected and obeyed him, and I cherish my connection to any number of cousins.”
“Not your mother?”
“She died giving birth to a sister who passed with her.”
Evangeline nodded. So many women and children never survived childbirth. She had little difficulty bringing her son into the world and considered herself blessed. The sudden memory of the first time she held Ned flashed to life, as clearly as the moment it had happened. She hugged the jewel case on her lap closer to her stomach.
Grieves said, “Very wise to have brought your valuables with you.”
With a shake of her head, she smiled. “There is little of value in this. These are sentimental items with the exception of an uncut stone my father left me.”
“A stone?” Grieves politely asked, but she heard a deprecating undertone.
“My father liked gems. He bought uncut stones and arranged for the perfect cut and settings for my mother. When they fled, no one bothered his pouch of dull looking rocks. My parents were émigré.”
“I ascertained that much by your faint accent. Not Parisian, but not of the lower orders.”
She couldn’t stop a grimace of disgust. “High enough that the mob wanted my parents’ necks under the blade.”
“They did well for themselves here?” he asked, knowing as well as she that most did not.
“They were clever and careful with the exception of me. I was born late in their lives. I never met my two older brothers.”
“They stayed in France?”
“To hide my parent’s escape. A sacrifice. I am alone now.”
Grieves nodded and looked out the window. “The inn is very near. I’m sure you will welcome a hot meal. By tomorrow, you’ll be safe at Rolands. I’m curious. What is it about your son’s uncle that is so disagreeable?”
“He likes boys.”
Startled, Grieves stared. Such subjects were never discussed. Evangeline no longer cared, had long ago rejected associated shame. Archibald had forced her into a life of fear and penury. The fiend’s existence made her yearn to strike out.
Her parents had never been able to conquer the horror they’d fled in France. Haunted by memories and the loss of his sons, her father taught her about firearms and how to use a knife so no one could harm his last, living child. If forced into a corner, she wouldn’t hesitate to use any kind of weapon to protect Ned.
“He likes boys?” Grieves repeated.
Refusing to flinch, Evangeline looked directly back at his question, her unblinking gaze an answer.
“I do not know your enemy, ma’am, but it appears that you know him well, if you can make that accusation.”
Her pretty mouth thinned with revulsion. “Archibald is something more than a mere enemy.”
His eyes widened with new understanding. “Archibald? Your son has garnered the attention of the Duke of Havardshire? He’s the uncle?”
She remained silent but had to firm her chin to hide a quiver. It took all of her will to control the emotions roiling inside.
“Now I remember. Edward. I attended his wedding. He died only months after his father did. Then his wife went missing.” His features softened. “No wonder you ran. To protect your son?”
When she managed a nod, he said, “You were quite right to do so. Being older and larger than most everyone, Rave protected us from that sort, from older students and teachers. Young ones are treated to any manner of abuse at school. It’s why we worshiped him. Did whatever he said and continue to do so to this day.”
She eased the constriction in her throat with a forced swallow. “My son has had tutors but would prefer to attend school.”
“If I should ever have a son, I may not send him off to Eton, but do as you have done with tutors. We should be coming up on the inn. Can you see it?”
Since she sat in the forward seat, it was easier for her to lean closer to the window to look ahead. “The light is almost gone, but I can see the edge of a village.”
“Pull up the hood on your cloak to cover your face. Wait inside the carriage while I arrange for a private dining room. That way, you’ll spend no time in the foyer. Where are your gloves?”
“I forgot them.”
He tugged off his own as the carriage slowed to roll into the coach yard. “Take mine. The wind looks lik
e it could cut through a stone.”
She leaned forward to accept them, glancing out the window. Shock jammed her back against the seat. Dropping the gloves, she pulled the hood around her face.
“Evangeline, what is it?”
Her voice came out in a congested croak. “That man. By the tie rail. He works for Archibald.”
Chapter 10
Freddy snatched the gloves from her lap and started to put them on her but she’d curled her fingers into fists. “Be calm, Evangeline. Look again. Are you certain?”
Her eyes, usually limpid or downcast to hide her thoughts, were now wide, openly reflecting her terror.
He reached for her hand. “Don’t stare, Evangeline! Look at me.” When her gaze connected with his, he said with quiet authority, “You must turn your head away so your face can’t be recognized. Collect yourself, and tell me what you’ve seen. Is it the uncle?”
She shook her head, but fear had stiffened her, wound her so tightly that the movement was barely visible. She whispered. “Archibald’s steward. He used to be Edward’s.”
A vague chord of comprehension rang in his head but there was no time to think what it meant. “Who, Evangeline? Tell me which man.”
“In the coach yard near the stable. Beaver hat. Driving coat with three capes. Red flower in the buttonhole.”
Freddy switched seats to sit beside her, blocking her from view. She’d dipped her chin and hunched down, sinking into the protection of her cloak and its hood. He shifted, leaning toward her, as if solicitous, while peering over his shoulder.
“Now I see him. He’s about to climb up onto a curricle. No one will suspect anything if we sit here until he leaves. We shan’t attract attention. There’s a bit of a queue in front of the inn.”
“Alfred, what if Archibald is inside, staying at the inn? Why would he be here?”
He paused at her familiar use of his name and looked down at her worried expression. She suddenly looked up, her eyes still wide with fear. A shaft of longing followed by a surge of lust took his breath. How could he be so self-involved when Evangeline sat transfixed with fear? The fierce grip of protectiveness overwhelmed his guilt. Searching for an outlet, he watched the curricle wheel out of the yard, then looked back at Evangeline.