A Gift for Fiona (The Love Letters Series Book 2)

by Rogers, Suzanne G.

  “Of course not! I doubt very much he would ever think of such a thing.”

  Rory placed the letter on the table between them. As Lady Quarterbury stared at it, her fingers twitched. “Have you come to sell it?”

  “No, but I’d like some information in exchange. I must find Iris and take her out of harm’s way. I think your help isn’t too big a price to pay for a piece of paper.”

  “Miss Braithwaite isn’t in any danger, whatsoever. Yes, Lord Moordale asked me to give a letter to your sister, asking her to elope. I let them spend the night here last night—in separate rooms I might add. They left for the train station just before noon today.”

  “Where were they going?”

  “If I tell you, you must both promise not to touch him.”

  Rory exchanged a glance with Miles. “You have our word.”

  “They were bound for Liverpool.”

  “Why Liverpool?”

  She shrugged. “Moordale told me he wished to avoid Miss Braithwaite’s family until a special license is granted. Although I offered to conceal them here in the interim, he insisted on leaving London. I recommended the Adelphi Hotel as a place to stay, and I believe you’ll find them there.”

  Miles gave her a level glance. “Did you give him money for the special license or travel expenses?”

  “No. I’ve offered Iggy money upon many occasions, but he’s always refused. My assistance to him has always been more in the realm of society contacts and introductions. I’m a member of Almack’s—now Willis’s Rooms—and I assist him with vouchers every year.”

  Rory produced the book of poetry. “Is this yours?”

  The countess shook her head “Moordale left it with me to employ in his ruse.” She reached for the Montague letter “If that’s all…”

  He held up a quelling hand. “Just one more thing. In your opinion, is he in love with my sister?”

  Lady Quarterbury’s eyebrows drew together. “I confess, on that point, I’m somewhat puzzled. Naturally, I assumed he was. When I saw the two of them together this morning, however I felt the affection to be rather one-sided on Miss Braithwaite’s part. I didn’t pry, but if that’s the case, I can’t understand why he asked her to elope.”

  “Neither can I. Thank you, Countess.” He picked up the Montague letter and gave it to her. “You may be assured of our silence regarding Miss Delphinia.”

  “I certainly hope so.” She crumpled the letter, threw it into the fire, and smiled. “C’est la fin d’une époque.”

  On the way out of Bowerhaven Hall, Miles gave Rory a curious glance. “My French is rather rusty. What did she say?”

  “She said ‘It’s the end of an era.’” Rory frowned. “Her problems are solved, perhaps, but not mine. We must depart for Liverpool as soon as possible.”

  Although Iris had contented herself with a light, late night supper of clear soup, a small portion of roast chicken, Yorkshire pudding, and vegetables, Moordale was working his way through a huge rack of lamb and an amazing number of side dishes. As they sat in the dimly-lit, nearly empty public dining room of the Adelphi Hotel, she tried to catch his eye.

  “You seem to be ravenously hungry, Iggy.”

  “Being cooped up on trains for seven hours does wonders for my appetite. At any rate, the food is quite good. I must remember to thank Lady Quarterbury for her recommendation when I see her next.”

  “We arrived at the hotel so late, we’re fortunate there were rooms available.” She bit her lip. “I’m really not sure why we had to leave Lady Quarterbury’s lovely house at all. We could have stayed out of sight and nobody would have been the wiser.”

  “It would have been rude to impose on the countess. Besides which, if your father connects her visit to the elopement, he’ll look for you there. We’ll be safe in Liverpool until the special license comes through.”

  “When do you suppose it will be granted? For propriety’s sake, we should wed as soon as possible.”

  He finally spared her a glance. “These things take time, dearest.”

  “Well, I only ask because if we’re here for more than a few days, I must have more clothes. The countess was kind enough to lend me this gown, but I came away with very little else.”

  “We’ll discuss it when I arise.”

  “Shall we meet for breakfast at half-past eight?”

  He shook his head. “The desk clerk mentioned a gentlemen’s card game in the salon, so I may not get to bed until very late. I doubt if I’ll rise much before midday.”

  Iris was taken aback. “What am I to do with myself all morning?”

  “Why don’t you go shopping? The concierge can suggest some suitable establishments.”

  She lowered her voice, even though few restaurant patrons remained in the dining room to overhear. “I’m sure he could, but I’ve very little money.”

  “Have the shops send the bills to the hotel.”

  “If the Viscount of Moordale came along to introduce me that might work. Otherwise, no shops will extend credit to a complete stranger.”

  “I’d like to give you shopping money, but I must conserve my cash for the game. I’ll be able to buy you some things out of my winnings tomorrow.”

  For not the first time since she’d left home, her faith in Moordale wobbled. “The card game involves gambling?”

  “Cards are not much of a risk for me.” He winked. “I’m really rather clever at it.”

  “If you say so.” She frowned. “It’s quite late, so I’ll say good-night.”

  “If you wait until I finish eating, I’ll walk you to your room.”

  “N-No, that’s all right. Enjoy your meal and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Before Iris left, she deposited a kiss on his cheek—which he received with little outward sign of pleasure. Although her feelings were wounded, she shook it off. The day had been long and they’d traveled in less than ideal conditions. Undoubtedly his congeniality would reemerge after he’d had a night’s sleep.

  As she made her way from the dining room and through the hotel’s luxurious lobby, she was puzzled at the desk clerk’s pointed stare. He nodded to a bellman, who immediately trotted over and fell into step beside her. Confused, she paused.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m sorry, but the hotel doesn’t allow unescorted ladies in the lobby after hours.”

  Her face flamed so hot with embarrassment, she could hardly respond. No powder dusted her nose, no rouge reddened her cheeks, and her borrowed gown was modesty itself, so how could the staff take her for a lady of dubious repute?

  “Heavens! I’m not unescorted. Well, I’m unescorted at present, but I’m not ordinarily. Your implication is offensive, I must say.”

  Unbending, the bellman gestured toward the stairs. “Forgive me, miss, but I’ll just walk you to your room.”

  As quickly as her dignity would allow, Iris mounted the steps without deigning to glance at her unwanted escort. After she was alone in her room, however, she collapsed onto a chair and covered her face in shame. She’d considered posing as Moordale’s wife when checking into the hotel, but then the desk clerk would have given them adjoining rooms. Although in the eyes of society she was already “fallen,” her morals would not let her go that far! Moordale had told the hotel she was his cousin, Miss Montague, but clearly they hadn’t believed him. The hotel staff had pronounced judgment and her humiliation was complete.

  She sat back, let out a slow breath, and tried to cope with an onslaught of doubt and regret. The realization had come on slowly over the course of the day, but it was finally so plain she couldn’t ignore it any longer; running off with Moordale was rapidly losing its luster. Her initial escape from her father’s house had been exciting, and she’d been thrilled Moordale had brought her to Lady Quarterbury’s abode. Since that morning, however, things had seemed to go downhill quickly. The long journey to Liverpool had been wearing, although she supposed that wasn’t Moordale’s fault. On the other hand, if he�
�d managed to rise at a reasonable hour, they could have taken an earlier train and reached the hotel earlier. What was worse, because she wasn’t traveling with a lady’s maid or some other female companion, she’d been subjected to several hostile stares by fellow travelers, as well as whispered impertinent remarks. She couldn’t exactly lay the blame for that at Moordale’s doorstep either, but the cumulative effect had eroded her enjoyment of the adventure.

  Furthermore, he couldn’t give her a definite date for their wedding ceremony. Although she might be slightly besotted, she wasn’t stupid. Special licenses to marry were expensive, but not altogether impossible to manage, especially for a peer. If his intent on taking her away was other than matrimony, however, he’d shown little interest in that too. Had he been the least bit romantic, she supposed she would have put up with a great deal, but his attitude had been exceedingly reserved. In short, she was forced to conclude she’d made a terrible mistake.

  Tomorrow, she would demand to return to London and beg her father for forgiveness and mercy. Hopefully, he would escort her to Philadelphia as planned and she could put this nightmare—and Moordale—behind her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dire Straits

  MOORDALE’S STOMACH WAS FULL and his wallet was flush with the cash Sir Harry had given him for his travel expenses. So far, the plan to whisk Iris from London had gone flawlessly, although Moordale was glad he didn’t have to marry her. Certainly the woman was handsome enough to have caught his eye at the beginning of the Season, but after he’d met a certain auburn-haired beauty, his interest in Iris had waned. Although Moordale realized he wasn’t the right man for Fiona, he hoped she would be happy with Sir Harry. The older man had a tremendous amount of money, at least, and she’d never lack for material possessions.

  He ordered a glass of cognac and brought it with him into the smoke-filled salon, where a lively game of pharo was underway. His manners and cash won him ready acceptance, and he was gratified to discover his luck (aided by his expertise with sleight-of-hand) was strong. As the hour grew late, the players dropped off one by one until the game dissolved altogether. The last remaining player, Mr. Carney, gave him an engaging grin.

  “I can tell you’re a man of good luck and high aspirations.” Carney’s voice had a distinct American accent. When coupled with the man’s somewhat foxlike appearance, Moordale found him amusing. “There’s an elite, high-stakes game in a warehouse by the docks. Care to join me?”

  Moordale’s pocket watch revealed the time as three o’clock. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’d best turn in for the night.”

  “It’s up to you, of course, but with your luck and ability, I suspect you could make a fortune. Last night I watched a man win ten thousand pounds, and he had nowhere near your skill.”

  Moordale bit his lip. Ten thousand pounds would solve a great many of his problems, such as paying the taxes on his country estate and bringing the property back up to snuff.

  “You need an introduction, of course, which I’m happy to furnish.” Carney stood. “I’m heading there now.”

  Despite his better judgment, Moordale was nearly persuaded. “Is it safe walking around at this time of night? Liverpool is rife with gangs, I understand.”

  “The warehouse is less than five minutes from the hotel. Besides which, I carry my own protection.” Carney revealed the pistol secreted in his pocket. “I’ve never actually had to fire it, but the few times I’ve been accosted by wayward youths, a flash of this sends the villains running for cover.”

  “I expect so.” Moordale chuckled. “All right, I’ll join you for a little while.”

  “Good. If the game isn’t to your taste, I’ll escort you back to the Adelphi. I suspect, however, you’ll be tonight’s big winner.” Carney gave him a broad smile and a wink. “I must be careful not to bet against you.”

  When Iris woke in the morning, she donned the only fresh change of clothing she possessed and tried to do something with her hair. Yesterday, Lady Quarterbury’s lady’s maid had helped her dress and arranged her golden tresses, but today she was on her own. After a frustrating half hour of failing to achieve a passable style, she finally braided her hair into a pigtail and wound the braid into an unflattering bun at the nape of her neck. How she’d taken her lifestyle before now for granted!

  Although she was famished, Iris was reluctant to go downstairs to the dining room for breakfast alone. Last night’s episode with the hotel staff had embarrassed her so much she was still feeling the sting of humiliation. Increasingly annoyed at Moordale for putting her in a difficult position, she rang for tea and toast to be brought to her room. While she waited, she counted up her paper money and coins to determine how extensively she could go shopping. After she added the sum, however, she realized she wasn’t even sure how much clothes actually cost. It had always been her habit to buy whatever she wanted and have the bills sent directly to her father. There’d never been the need to economize or live within a budget. Indeed, whenever she stayed with Aunt Naomi, the wealthy woman had encouraged her to buy only the most expensive and luxurious items. As Iris stared at her small cache of money, her plan to go out shopping that morning suddenly seemed almost too daunting to manage.

  Her breakfast was taking altogether too long to arrive, so Iris decided to ring again for a servant. Just as she was reaching for the bell cord, however, a knock came at her door.

  “Thank heavens!”

  Iris opened the door, expecting to see a servant with a tray. Instead, a well-dressed man was waiting in the hall.

  “Miss Montague? I’m the hotel manager, Mr. Pruning. Will you kindly come with me?”

  Nonplussed, Iris blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for breakfast.”

  “You’ll have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid.” He stepped back to let her pass. “This way, please.”

  She gulped. Were they tossing her out of the hotel as a tart, or had they somehow discovered her true identity and sent a message to her father?

  “W-What is this about? I’m not leaving the hotel without Lord Moordale.”

  “We’ve bad news about your cousin, and the police are here to speak with you.” He emphasized the word cousin ever so slightly.

  “Bad news? What sort of bad news?”

  Mr. Pruning refused to say anything more, so Iris was obliged to retrieve her door key, and accompany him downstairs. He escorted her through the busy lobby, past the front desk, and into a suite of offices. A policeman was waiting inside and the trickle of fear down her spine became a flood. Had her father told the police that Moordale had kidnapped her?

  The hotel manager shut the door and offered her a chair. The officer, whose name badge was marked O’Hara, peered at her for several long moments before speaking.

  “After the nighttime desk clerk got off duty this morning, he discovered a gentleman in the alleyway behind the hotel. He’d been beaten, robbed, and shot once at close range. The clerk remembered him as having registered at our hotel.”

  Iris squeaked in horror. “Not Lord Moordale?”

  “The very same.”

  “Where is he? Oh, don’t tell me he’s dead!”

  “He’s at Liverpool Royal Infirmary.”

  “I must go to him!”

  “Not so hasty, lass. I’m afraid I’ve some questions for you regarding your relationship. You see, I did some checking in Burke’s Peerage, and it seems the Viscount of Moordale, doesn’t have any female cousins.”

  For her family’s sake, Iris was determined to keep her real name to herself. “What does that matter?”

  O’Hara leaned forward. “We believe Lord Moordale was lured from the hotel in order to rob him, and we think you had something to do with it.”

  “What? You’re mad!”

  “It’s been my experience when somebody lies about their identity, they’ve a great deal to hide. I want you to give me your real name, identify your accomplice, and tell me where to find him.
If you don’t feel like answering my questions, you can accompany me to the bridewell and sit in a cell until you do.”

  The manager cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but before anyone goes anywhere, the hotel charges must be settled.” He brandished the bill.

  Iris gripped the armrests of her chair with shaking hands, praying to awaken from the nightmare. Perhaps she could retrieve her things and slip out of the hotel without anyone noticing. “I have a little money. Let me go to my room to fetch it.”

  O’Hara shook his head. “No need. I’m having your luggage brought down now.”

  A second policeman came into the office just then, carrying Iris’s carpetbag and reticule.

  “What did you find, Sergeant Callahan?” O’Hara asked.

  The sergeant chuckled. “She’s a right thief, this one. Her bag is full of all sorts of items purloined from some chappy with the initials R.A.B. She even stole his Frog pistol!”

  O’Hara raised one eyebrow. “A pistol, eh?”

  “Yeah, I’m thinking maybe we just found the murder weapon.”

  Iris felt the blood leave her face. “Murder? You didn’t say anything about Iggy being dead!”

  Callahan scoffed. “He ain’t dead yet, you stupid strumpet, but if he dies, you’ll swing for it.”

  It was all too much. Iris finally lost consciousness and slumped over in her chair.

  Fiona went through her day with an air of resignation. She’d lain awake most of the night trying to come up with a legitimate reason to refuse Sir Harry but couldn’t think of a single one. She’d tried to convince herself her feelings for him would grow over time. If not, she’d be in good company, since few girls married for love.

  In the drawing room, the sketching materials and easels were still in view from her contest with Rory. He hadn’t bothered to collect the one he’d done of her, and she couldn’t bear to look at it—or at the one she’d done of him. Miles hadn’t even taken the ones she and Rory had drawn of him. She asked one of the maids to pack the sketches away and to return the easels to the room where they were usually stored. It might be a very long time until she had the stomach to draw another portrait again—if ever. Landscapes, still life tableaux, and animals would have to suffice.