Lord Margrave's Secret Desire (Gentlemen of Intrigue Book 4)

by Samantha Grace

  “Has there been any word of my brother’s fate?” Farrin asked. “I hope he is starving on the streets, the ungrateful idiot.”

  “The Duke of Stanhurts’ former mistress has taken Benny in,” Wolfe said. “Gave him work at a small playhouse. I heard he even has a part on stage.”

  Garrick grunted. “Benny will get what’s coming to him, too.”

  Farrin made no comment. The conversation turned to more people she didn’t know, and Jewel’s mind was too troubled to pay attention. When Wolfe pushed from the table with his bowl to fill it again, she made her escape from the pantry.

  She was above stairs bent over the bed to change the linens when Farrin found her. He alerted her to his presence when he slipped his arms around her waist. She jumped then laughed when he pulled her close to nuzzle her ear.

  “I’ve loved you well, Jewel.”

  She smiled and sank against him, secure in his arms. “I have loved you more.”

  His gentleness was in sharp contrast to the fierce anger she had seen blazing in his eyes a moment earlier. He was always gentle with her. She had been foolish to fear him. He would come back to her. He loved her too much to abandon her.

  She had no ties to London, or anywhere else. Her parents, siblings, and husband were long dead and buried. She only had Farrin, and he was all she needed. She wasn’t stupid enough to ask him to take her with him, however. He would know she had been spying if she did, so she would wait until he sent for her, and she would leave the boarding house to fall into ruin for all she cared.

  He kissed her cheek. “Run along to see Wolfe settled in his chamber while I rest.” The sharp smack to her buttock was delivered in affection.

  “Only Mr. Wolfe? Doesn’t Mr. Garrick require a room?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Garrick offers his regrets, but he was needed elsewhere.”

  “Of course.” She smiled, cognizant that questions would not be welcomed. “I will see to Mr. Wolfe and look in on you in a moment.”

  In truth, she was relieved Garrick wasn’t staying under her roof. She couldn’t sleep with him in close proximity for fear he might steal into the chamber she shared with Farrin and cut their throats as they slept. When she had voiced her concerns to Farrin once, he reassured her that Garrick and Wolfe would never raise a hand against anyone without his command. He was being naive. Men did many things when their superiors were not watching.

  The kitchen was empty when she returned to the kitchen to grab an empty bucket for water to fill the washbasin she kept in Wolfe’s chamber. She hoped he took the hint and cleaned the stink from his body. His name was fitting, because he smelled like a wild animal.

  At the sink, she pumped water into a bucket until it was half-full and toted it upstairs. She was pouring it into the plain white pitcher when a feral stench assaulted her nose. She gagged a little as she turned to find Wolfe standing an arm’s length away. Like Farrin, he walked on silent feet.

  She nodded toward the basin and a sliver of lye soap she had left in a dish. She saved the good soap Farrin gave her for herself. “I’ll retrieve a cloth, and you can have your privacy.”

  When she tried to step around him, he moved into her path, blocking the way. His bushy eyebrows drew together. “I knew your husband since we was boys. He never treated you right. I always thought you deserved better.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a brief dip of her head. She didn’t know how to curtsey like a real lady, but she had watched the ladybirds at Covent Garden and emulated their manners as best she could. With their pretty dresses and gentlemen patrons, they were as close as she would ever get to being in the presence of a lady.

  “I’m real sorry, Jewel.”

  She scoffed, dismissing his sympathy. Her husband had been dead to her for a long time before she saw him buried. Besides, it had been years since she had become a widow. It was silly to offer condolences now. “As I said, I’ll be retrieving that cloth. Then I should look in on your commander.”

  She attempted to skirt around him again. He lunged; his meaty hands closed around her neck. The shock made her gasp. She couldn’t catch her breath as his fingers cut off her air.

  “You shouldn’t have been listening in the pantry. I don’t like killing no women. Sorry, Jewel. I’m sorry.”

  He kept muttering his apology and telling her that she deserved better while pinpricks of darkness slowly stole her sight. As she clung to the last scraps of awareness before fading into nothingness, she had one final thought. Wolfe wouldn’t raise a hand against her without Farrin’s command. The man she loved with every ounce of her being had ordered her death.

  Eleven

  Two days after the brush with Lady Van Middleburg’s ruffians, Sophia and her great-aunt strolled arm-in-arm through their neighborhood. Happy blue skies made one forget there had been a morning rain shower, complete with window-rattling thunder.

  A breeze rustled the lace trimming Sophia’s bonnet. She glanced at her aunt, assessing if she was still spoiling for a fight.

  “It turned out to be a pleasant afternoon,” Sophia said. “I expect the Mayfair Ladies Charitable Society meeting will be well attended today.”

  “Yes,” Aunt Beatrice agreed. “It is a shame Lady Van Middleburg is the hostess. I had more than I can stomach of that woman yesterday.”

  When the baroness had called at Wedmore House to collect the blankets Aunt Beatrice knitted for the foundling hospital, she took one look at Auntie’s hard work, wrinkled her regal nose, and refused the donation. She deemed Aunt Beatrice’s work too substandard, even for orphans.

  “Pay her no mind, Auntie. One must have a heart to understand generosity.”

  Sophia did not elaborate. Aunt Beatrice knew nothing about the assault behind the Drayton Theatre, and Sophia wished to keep her in the dark. Like Crispin, her aunt would demand Sophia keep her distance from the baroness, which was quite impossible. Today’s charitable society meeting afforded Sophia the perfect opportunity to search the Van Middleburg town house.

  “The baroness is a prickly one to be sure,” Aunt Beatrice said. “Her lady’s maid probably has to let out her skirts to accommodate the quills protruding from her bum. Her drawers must be full of holes.”

  “Auntie!”

  Aunt Beatrice laughed. “I will be biting my tongue all afternoon. Allow me this single moment of pleasure to imagine the old porcupine struggling to use the chamber pot.”

  Sophia playfully arched an eyebrow in censorship. “Do you truly intend to bite your tongue? Your current discourse leaves me with doubts.”

  “I will behave—”Aunt Beatrice’s smile was everything mischievous—“if she does. I do not suffer fools in silence, dear girl.”

  “I am aware.” Sophia leaned her head against her aunt’s in a show of affection. “You make me proud to call you kin.”

  “Not nearly as proud as I am of you and your sisters.” Aunt Beatrice sighed with contentment as they crossed the street and headed west. “Have I ever told you that you are my favorite?”

  “You have, Auntie.” Sophia smiled brightly. “I’ve heard you tell Regina and Evangeline that they are your favorites, too, but I know you only mean it when you say it to me.”

  “My clever girl, how dull London would be if you had travelled to Athens with your sisters. I would be quite lost for companionship if I were alone.”

  Sophia’s great-aunt loved her and her sisters equally, but she realized that she possessed a special place in Auntie’s heart. As soon as Aunt Beatrice had arrived at Wedmore House with her trunks to mother her and her sisters, Sophia became her shadow. She was still her aunt’s constant companion.

  “You know I would never leave you alone, Auntie. When we take our honeymoon trip—”

  “We?” Aunt Beatrice’s thin eyebrows rose on her wrinkled forehead. “Have you selected a suitor?”

  Sophia nearly choked as she realized her mistake. It was premature to discuss her future with Crispin when no firm agreement existed b
etween them. He would offer for her hand in time, once he realized he needed her, and she must remain patient.

  “I meant to say I. When I take my honeymoon trip, I would never dream of leaving you behind. There is no we—no gentleman, that is. You and I make a we.” Sophia cleared her throat. “Oh, look! We have arrived.”

  Aunt Beatrice groaned, her attention diverted toward the Van Middleburg town house looming two houses away. “The trip was shorter than I anticipated.”

  “We could circle back later if you need more time to prepare,” Sophia offered, praying her aunt wasn’t having second thoughts. She couldn’t attend the meeting alone.

  “There isn’t time. The meeting will be called to order soon.”

  With a determined nod, Aunt Beatrice marched toward the front door to grasp the brass knocker and gave it three hard raps. The door slowly swung open. A butler in black greeted them and ordered a footman standing by to lead them above stairs. When they entered the first floor drawing room, several ladies glanced in their direction before continuing their conversations.

  Sophia gestured toward the refreshment table. “Would you like to take refreshment? I will fill a plate for you.”

  Aunt Beatrice screwed up her face, which Sophia took as a refusal.

  Amelia Hillary, steadfast patroness of the Mayfair Ladies Charitable Society, approached with a stunning smile aimed at Sophia’s aunt. “Miss Allred, how lovely of you to attend this week’s meeting. I was unsure if you would grace us with your presence, and I am pleased to see you have.”

  “I am always happy to support the charitable efforts you sponsor, ” Aunt Beatrice said. “May I introduce you to my great-niece, Sophia Darlington?”

  “Yes, of course, it is a pleasure, Miss Darlington.”

  Mrs. Hillary was too kind to draw attention to Auntie’s memory troubles. Sophia had been present when the lovely woman called at Wedmore House yesterday afternoon to apologize for the deplorable treatment Auntie had received and to humbly accept her gift for the orphans. In addition, Mrs. Hillary and Sophia had crossed paths many times this Season and were acquainted.

  “Lady Norwick and I paid a visit to the foundling hospital this morning,” Mrs. Hillary said to Aunt Beatrice. “The children were overcome with excitement over your gifts. I am in possession of a letter I transcribed expressing their gratitude. I intend to read the children’s sentiments aloud during the meeting. Perhaps you would like to hear what the children had to say now?”

  “How marvelous!” Aunt Beatrice beamed at the charity’s founding patroness. “I would like that very much. Sophia darling, will you excuse us for a moment?”

  “Of course, Auntie.” She glanced at her dearest friend, who was seated on a tufted plumb bench in a corner of the room. “It appears Lady Octavia arrived before us. Perhaps she would appreciate a companion.”

  When Mrs. Hillary whisked Aunt Beatrice away, Sophia approached her friend. Octavia sat with her arms crossed and a mutinous frown on her otherwise fetching face. Her dour demeanor lessened marginally when she spotted Sophia.

  “Oh, dear,” Sophia teased as she reached her friend. “Did your mother scold you and send you to the corner?”

  Octavia’s dark brows dropped low over her eyes. “Mama had the good sense to stay home. She sent me with Amy.” She pointed toward her married older sister at the far end of the drawing room where she was playing cards with three other ladies. “Any time spent in Lady Lovelace’s company is punishment enough.”

  “That widow is a menace,” Sophia agreed.

  Lady Lovelace was an unredeemable coquette who was never discouraged from flirting with a man by anything as frivolous as a betrothal. She had been buzzing around Octavia’s intended like a bee gathering nectar ever since the pending nuptials were announced. Lord Ramsdell paid her no mind, but Sophia’s friend took umbrage, and rightfully so.

  Octavia scooted to one side of the bench and patted the place beside her.

  Sophia sat. “What has she done now?”

  “She said my gown reminds her of small pox,” Octavia grumbled as she grabbed a fistful of pink dotted skirts and shook them.

  Lady Lovelace truly was a shrew.

  “Pay her no mind.” Sophia dispensed this advice a lot when discussing Lady Lovelace, but she didn’t know how else to handle women who viewed every other female as her sworn enemy. “She is only jealous because you wear the pattern so well.”

  Octavia shrugged as a begrudging smile quirked her lips. “I look marvelous, do I not? Madame Delannoy is a genius.”

  “You look lovely. Even I am envious and I adore you.”

  Octavia giggled, her good nature restored. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you for attending,” Sophia said. “You must know I wouldn’t have asked you to endure the widow’s company under normal circumstances.”

  “Your message indicated it was important.”

  She nodded. “I need you to cause a distraction.”

  “Now?” Octavia sat up straighter, interest sparking in the depths of her eyes.

  “After everyone arrives. Would you mind too much?”

  “Not in the least. It would be my pleasure.” An impish smile played across Octavia’s lips. “I love a good distraction.”

  Sophia laughed and squeezed her friend’s hand in gratitude and affection. She never had to explain herself to Octavia. She was the type of loyal person who would dive head first into the Thames without question if done in the service of a friend.

  Octavia’s gaze seemed to follow Lady Lovelace as the widow made her way to a small table laden with a platter of sandwiches, cakes, and fresh fruit. Octavia’s eyes narrowed; she puckered her lips.

  “Are you certain you are all right?” Sophia asked.

  “I will be.”

  Following her friend’s example, Sophia asked no questions. Octavia was likely plotting a wickedly marvelous distraction, and she did her best work alone.

  Sophia linked their arms to drag her friend from the bench. “Neither of us are wallflowers, Lady Octavia. Let’s stop hiding in the corner before someone mistakes us for one.”

  Sophia spotted Aunt Beatrice seated in the middle of a long sofa between Mrs. Hillary and Lady Norwick. The best friends had seen to Auntie’s comfort by propping a feather pillow behind her back and retrieving refreshment for her. When Aunt Beatrice spoke, Lady Norwick tossed her head back and laughter exploded into the air. Sophia smiled, feeling reassured Aunt Beatrice was in good company and could do without her for a while.

  Sophia and Octavia stopped to exchange pleasantries with the other guests as they took a turn around the room. After a few minutes, Octavia whispered in her ear, “The time is nigh.”

  She chuckled over her friend’s dramatic delivery of words. “Do your best, soldier. Make your brothers proud.”

  “Be quick about whatever it is you are doing. I do not know how long I can cause a commotion.”

  Octavia pasted on a bright smile and strolled toward the refreshment table where her nemesis was stuffing a watercress sandwich into her mouth.

  “Lady Lovelace,” Octavia called. “You have, uh—” She waggled her finger at the widow then pointed to her own teeth.

  “Pardon?” The lady plopped the plate she was holding onto the table and dabbed at her mouth with a lacy handkerchief.

  “There is nothing on your lips,” Octavia said. “Your trouble is there—in the front.”

  Octavia’s loud conversation began to capture attention, and the ladies stared in her and Lady Lovelace’s direction.

  Red washed over the widow’s face. “Are you teasing me? Is this retaliation for what I said about your gown? I meant it as a compliment.”

  “How could I take your earlier observation as anything other than a compliment?” Octavia appeared very innocent when she batted her long lashes. “The color of small pox is the latest fashion.”

  A couple of ladies standing nearby snickered.

  “Unlike you, Lady Lovelace, I am trying to be
helpful. This is a charitable society, or have you forgotten?” Octavia flicked her hand as if swatting flies. “If you wish to converse with others with something hideous between your teeth...”

  “Hideous?” Lady Lovelace rushed to the other side of the room to peer into the looking glass. “Where? I see nothing in my teeth.”

  Baroness Van Middleburg grabbed her guest’s shoulder to turn her away from the mirror. “Allow me to look. You cannot see a thing without spectacles.”

  Lady Lovelace sputtered. “That is you. I-I do not wear spectacles.”

  “Oh, stop resisting and open your mouth.” Their hostess tipped her head to the side when the widow flashed her teeth. “Yes, Lady Octavia is correct. I see something.”

  Lady Lovelace whipped back toward the mirror. “Where? I see nothing.”

  The other guests—minus Aunt Beatrice and her companions—crowded around the widow for a turn at examining her teeth.

  “It’s the start of a rotting tooth, I think,” Lady Corbin said.

  Lady Lovelace cried out in despair.

  Octavia raised her glass in Sophia’s direction and mouthed, “Godspeed.”

  As her friend approached the widow to render her own opinion, Sophia snuck from the room and almost collided with a footman carrying a tray of sandwiches.

  “Pardon me, miss.” A crimson blush inched up his neck and face.

  “No, no, I should have been watching where I was going.” She dropped her head and feigned a shy smile. “Could you direct me toward the water closet?”

  “Turn left at the end of the corridor. It is behind the door across from his lordship’s study.”

  She looked up, her eyes wide. “I do hope Lord Van Middleburg is not disturbed by the noise. The Mayfair Ladies Charitable Society can cause quite a ruckus when we set our minds to it.”

  The footman chuckled uneasily, as if he was unsure it would be appropriate to find her comment humorous. “Lord Van Middleburg is at his club today, Miss. You needn’t worry about disturbing him.”

  How convenient. “Thank you. I am greatly relieved.”